


And Other Curious Creatures

by girlskylark



Series: Curious Creatures [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Magic, Apprentice Lance, Exploration, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk the baker, M/M, Mentor Keith, Mentor/Protégé, Potions, Scholarly Pidge, Shiro just wants to explore, Sorcerer Keith (Voltron), Sorcerer Lance (Voltron), Witchcraft, sorcery, wizardry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 111,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8333458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlskylark/pseuds/girlskylark
Summary: Essentially a fantasy AU featuring Keith the sorcerer, Lance and Pidge the apprentices, Hunk the baker, and Shiro the adventurer-slash-explorer. THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAVE A PLOT AND YET HERE WE ARE:As far as anyone knows, Keith is just your average apothecary sorcerer. It's been that way ever since he moved to this sleepy town and started apprenticing the only other sorcerer around, Lance. Overall, it's been an uneventful two years until a certain adventurer returns at dusk with a proposal.After living with Keith for several years, Shiro enlisted a novice scholar named Pidge and took off on a expedition across the globe in search of the unimaginable, the unthinkable, the unfathomable. For two years Keith and Shiro lived separate lives after spending the bulk of their young-adult years together. The fact that Shiro left devastated Keith, and the heartbreak constantly occupied the back of his mind for longer than he cared to admit. It will take more than an apology to convince Keith that Shiro ever meant to come back into his life.





	1. { the ravens }

A slim, scrawny raven perched itself along the nearest gnarled branch. Its claws clung to the ridges of the bark, and how they twisted like spindles of hair strands. It plodded along curiously, hopping now and again until approaching the crook between the branch and its main counterpart. And, as the raven poked its beak out, a hand shot out from the bark and snatched it up, flatting its wings to its sides before it could take flight.

“Gotchya,” the voice said, emerging from the bark limb by limb. The voice gradually took form in the shape of a black haired man sporting a satchel, on which a bird cage was hooked. 

The man unlatched the cage and gingerly placed the raven inside. It was still in his palm, and took its place between the bars, as if it knew it wouldn’t be there for long.

“Keith!” someone shouted from below. The man perked up, only to groan at the sound of his name echoing again. He slouched against the tree bark before grasping a branch overhead, and leaning to peer down.

“ _What_ , I’m _busy_ , Lance,” he yelled back. “Go bother someone else!”

“What are you busy with! Can I join you!”

“No! Can you even climb a tree?” That was not the right thing to say, and Keith realized this the second Lance started for the nearest branch. “Don’t climb up—gods, Lance." Keith waited, tapping his boot against the branch as Lance snuck his foot onto a lower branch and rolled on top of it. He sat up, legs swinging, and promptly stood to climb the next. Five minutes later, Lance reached nearly eye level with Keith. “Are you done?” Keith demanded.

“Not quite,” he said, and reached inside his jacket to fetch a small booklet. “I actually had to ask you a question.” 

“One that couldn’t be asked from the _ground?_ ” Keith hissed, and the escalation in his tone sent the raven fluttering. 

The sound of its wings flicking against the bars brought Lance’s attention to it. To say he looked startled would be an understatement. “What the—Why do you— _Oh_ , you’re busy, I understand the context now,” Lance said, hesitating, looking at the ground, before turning back up. “I still have a question though.”

Keith scowled as Lance read over his notes again. “So… ‘one mustn’t mix juppen berries with lamp clover,’ right? And, hypothetically, if someone _did_ —again, hypothetically—”

“Did the fire turn red?” Keith drawled, and Lance nodded. “Does it smell like oil?” Again, another nod. “Then get out of the damn tree and drink a gallon of water and hope it doesn’t stay in your system. Air out the store and _don’t_ let anyone inside until the smell is gone.”

“How will I know if the smell is gone if I’m not supposed to smell it?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Now _go_ ,” he snapped, shooing Lance away and down the tree branches. He followed suit, and, on the last branch, dropped down and held the raven cage close. Lance was already out of view, probably panicking about how he was going to chug a gallon of water before the poison set in. “Unbelievable,” Keith muttered under his breath. When he reluctantly accepted an apprentice, this was exactly what he pictured it’d be like, and the exact reason he didn’t want one in the first place.

Keith sighed as he unclipped the cage from his hip and held it for the remainder of the trip back to his house. It was beyond the town’s stone walls, nearer to the forests where the pine needles encased it, and provided decent shade in the warmer months. Of course, this made herbology difficult.

The walk was no longer tiresome after so many years of making the trek to the store and back. It was the perfect distance to stimulate thoughts he normally wouldn’t think of, ideas he normally wouldn’t have thought of, and other nuggets of discovery. Even when he did have a companion to walk back with, it was always quiet. He didn’t talk much, especially once he was indoors. 

He walked around to the back of the house, where a large shed was arranged with wood cuttings out underneath its overhang, and an opening peering in to the set of cages within. They were larger cages, and each had a latch that opened to the back of the shed. He picked a suitable cage for the newest addition, and secured the latch on the other side. Once this one was trained, it would be able to move freely in and out. 

The birds nearest him crowded in to chirp at him, so he reached for a handful of seed and tossed a bit into each cage. He absently held a finger in to one and let the raven rub its feathers against him.

Outside the cage shed, Keith stared at the back of his home and the water-resistant cloth that hung over his back porch. It sheltered a portion of the plants there, the ones that weren’t in need of much light, and he went around testing the cool soil and watering where needed. He sat on the edge of the porch for a while, setting his bag aside and rifling through it for the heavy, leather-bound journal inside. He laid back on the wood, ignoring the dust in his hair and on his clothes, and read over the curly script again.

He munched on dried fruit until his supply was gone, and begrudgingly let the journal fall onto his chest. He stared up at the underside of the roof, and after a moment, became aware of the gentle patter creating damp spots on the railing. A few rain droplets touched his legs before he made any attempt to move. 

Inside, he shimmied out of his coat and placed his bag aside. The damp chill in the air did little to cool him, especially as he continued through the kitchen heating a kettle of water between his hands. He waited just before the whistle to pour the water out, and gingerly poured it into a cast-iron teapot. The tea leaves soaked up the moisture, and he left them to steep.

A knock sounded on the front door after Keith poured a mug full of tea. He groaned aloud, knowing it was Lance worrying frantically over the idiotic mistake to mix juppen with lamp clover. He leaned over and shouted, “Don’t talk to me until you’ve drunk a gallon of water!” 

The knocking didn’t cease. 

Keith released a snarl from between his teeth, and the trinkets on a nearby shelf seemed to quiver. “For gods’ sake—what did I just say?” he shouted, approaching the door and cranking it open. 

He almost wished it was Lance on the other side of the door. 

Instead, there were two people—hardly strangers at that. Keith could barely focus on them before stepping back in shock. He half expected his heart to lunge straight out of his chest and flop onto the floor. For a moment, the heat of the mug registered in his fingertips, and he nearly dropped it. “Sh-Shiro?” he stammered.

The man on the doorstep came forward, reaching a hand out to the door. “Keith,” he said, and his voice sounded just as genuine as Keith remembered. 

It was enough to drag him back to reality.

He sneered and grabbed the door. “Go to hell,” he hissed, about to slam the door in Shiro’s face, but the man had his hand out, stopping it. Keith took in the sight of Shiro crossing the threshold, and his companion lingering on the porch, reddish-brown hair damp with moisture. “Get out of my house—What the hell are you doing here?”

“Keith, wait—” Shiro begged, hand reaching for Keith’s. He came _so close_ to touching Keith—the thought that they were only centimeters apart was insane to begin with, when they’d spent the past two years hundreds of miles away from each other. And _now_ he decides to show up on Keith’s doorstep? With the apprentice that convinced him to leave?

Shiro’s hand halted, tensed, and stayed there even as he yanked at it. Keith’s head was on fire, pulsing, as it always did when he tried to control people like that. A sharp sting momentarily sent his vision scattering, but he was already backing away, and heading to the back door when Shiro’s hand came free. “Keith!” he shouted, following after, abandoning the backpack strapped to his back, and the heavy coat along with it. 

The door slammed shut behind Keith as he leapt from the porch and for the shed. Each step jarred his skull, and the effect was so powerful that when Shiro caught up with him and grabbed him by the arm, Keith’s brain felt like it was rattling. “Please wait, just for a minute,” Shiro said, and the rain squashed any opportunity for Keith to burn his hand away.

“ _No_ ,” he hissed. “Let _go of me!_ ”

The hysteria in Keith’s voice was enough to convince Shiro to drop his hand. The second he did, Keith brought his hands together and at the clap of his palms, an eruption of metal flinging free echoed from the shed. 

Dozens of ravens rocketed out of the shed opening, feathers flying and wings roaring in the rain. Shiro staggered back as they swarmed towards them, entirely engulfing Keith in their black cloak of feathers. In a whoosh of air, the ravens funneled up to the sky and disappeared through the pines, leaving only Shiro, and the only remnant that Keith was there: the fallen tea mug.

  


  


Keith slept for three days surrounded by bird shit and feathers. There was nothing particularly wonderful about living with a constable of ravens, and absolutely nothing luxurious. He barely even realized he was living with them until he woke up at last to the debilitating pain in his abdomen. He hadn’t eaten in three days—no wonder it took so long to recover.

Sorcery wasn’t something that a person could use with no cause and effect. Small, minuscule charms like heating a kettle did little to diminish Keith’s strength nowadays as opposed to when he was little. It was a muscle he had to exercise daily, and disappearing with the ravens was considered a large amount of magick, and adding human control to the list wasn’t an ideal mix. 

But he felt a bitter taste in his mouth, knowing that Shiro was fully aware of these effects. That was two years ago though, that they last had contact with each other.

Keith had changed a lot since then, and apparently so had Shiro.

As he rose to discover his approximate location, Keith tried his best to recall what, exactly, made Shiro look different to him. Perhaps he would have remembered, had he not taken control of Shiro’s hand. The amount of mind power to preform such a task was inconceivable, and more often than not gave him crippling migraines.

The ravens scattered as he walked past, and he sighed at the sight of trees, and more trees, upon trees and trees. _Perfect_ , he mused sourly, and proceeded to step out of the nook between the rocks and branches, and out into the open air.

It was evening now, and the wilderness was a vast expanse—it would take time and effort to determine how far he was from home. He recalled arranging a specified magnetic navigational device that only ever directed him home, but that was in his satchel. 

“As if this day _couldn’t get worse_ ,” he complained aloud. First Lance poisoned his shop, then the hotshot bastard showed up on his porch, and _now this_.

With a sigh, Keith went to the nearest familiar edible bark and pealed a chunk of it off. He nibbled on it, no matter how awful and dry it tasted, as he continued in search of supplies. He wouldn’t be finding any magnetic materials out here, so he’d have to improvise. 

The ravens clustered around the trees and provided constant noise that, surprisingly, succeeded in quelling Keith’s mental rampage. Soon, he was simply working mechanically against the upset of his hungry stomach, and forged a circular glyph out of pine needles, earth, and several strands of his own hair. It wouldn’t be enough. He didn’t even have a proper candle for this.

He shuffled around in the pockets of his trousers. There had to be a razor somewhere in here. He found a pin, a flask of whiskey, a jar of salt, a gemstone, necklaces, bracelets, and a few other trinkets that formed a large pile on the side. Surprisingly, no food. But he did find the razor.

He knelt beside the glyph and raised his hands, and, after pressing the sharp edge of the blade to his palms, he turned them parallel to the ground. He felt the air still, but perhaps that was just his mind clearing, and as he sat, meditating, a calm washed over him. He no longer felt the effects of a grumbling stomach, or the remnants of a headache lingering between his temples. And then, the pressure built near the cut on his palm.

A gust of wind came through, tugging at his shirt and the silky material of his trousers. His hair whipped in front of him, and suddenly the wind carried away the lighter material on the glyph. Instantly he was on his feet, gathering his supplies and following the wind for as long as it would keep up.

The ravens cawed in the trees, fluttering overhead like bats in the night. It was darkening, and soon Keith was weaving blindly between pine needle branches and tree trunks. The wind continued, guiding him, up and over fallen trees. Across a wide, shallow creek, and down one side of a ravine and up the next.

By the time he picked up on the aroma of the town, it was morning, and he was exhausted, dragging his feet and collapsing against the back of the raven shed. All of the cages were still open, and they returned to their rightful places, shutting the metal doors closed behind them with their beaks. They could leave out the other side if they wanted to.

He stared at the back of his house again, and noted the smoke rising from the chimney, and the fact that the screen door was left open. Someone was clearly home, and it wasn’t Keith.

Instead of engaging in the impending fight Keith planned on starting later, he took a detour through the woods once more and came out on the town’s side, and hurried across the streets to his shop. It was tucked away on the far side of the shopping square, with APOTHECARY labeled in clear, italicized script. The front door was open, and the OPEN sign was flipped facing the street. 

Through the window Keith could see bottles of dark amber liquid and plants that reached the top of the window frame. When he entered, the bell chimed overhead. Lance was a happier sight to see than what he would have encountered at home.

Lance was seated at the counter with one leg propped up on the stool dowel and the other tapping on the ground. He looked up from his book and pursed his lips at Keith. “Took you long enough—I cleared out the shop while you were _gone_. Because _clearly_ you can’t stand to stick around and make sure I didn’t, you know, _die_ or something.”

“Is there food in back?” Keith asked, already heading in that direction.

“There’s some stale bread and—”

“Perfect.” 

As Keith passed him, Lance gave him a once over and said, “You look like _shit._ ” Keith shoved his hand against the side of Lance’s head, nearly knocking him off his stool.

Keith got to the back room and started shuffling through the cabinets, one-by-one, and acquiring all of the provisions he could get his hands on. He slopped together a sandwich, a beverage, and mixed it with the whiskey flask from his pocket. There was some questionable looking cheese in the freezer, so he ate that as well. 

When he returned to the front room, Lance was studying the book again. “What are you reading?” Keith asked between mouthfuls. 

“I want to curse Hunk with the sound flies make in your ear in the summer, and no matter how much he swats around he won’t be able to kill it,” he explained, flicking through another page and resting his head on his hand. “Where would I find something like that?”

“Not everything is in a book, asshat,” Keith said, narrowing his eyes. “You are never going to find anything specific enough for that. What did Hunk do to piss you off?”

“He didn’t. I just think it would be funny,” he confessed with a sigh. “What would you look for?”

“Curses that involve repeating noise,” Keith said. “And then invent the rest from there. Maybe patchwork something from a mosquito spell, such as… reverse engineering a mosquito extermination spell.”

Lance hummed for a moment as Keith leant against the counter, licking his fingers absently. “Wouldn’t that… cause _actual_ mosquitos to swarm him?”

“Win-win.”

“ _Not_ win-win. That’s _actual_ torture. I’m just looking for fun, fake torture.” 

“You mean pranks? Pranking is fun, fake torture,” Keith argued, his menacing glare daring Lance to dispute it. When Lance purposefully shut his mouth to avoid starting a fight, Keith huffed in satisfaction. “Did anyone stop by while I was gone.”

“Yeah, these two guys that looked pretty rough. Said they were looking for you,” Lance said, getting up off his stool to fetch another book. There was a wide bookshelf across long, narrow wall that followed the length of the building. It was fitted with a ladder, which Lance climbed to return the book. 

Keith glowered at the door before returning his attention to Lance. “What’d they say?” he asked.

“Why, do you know them? One guy with a white tuft of hair, other with specs.”

“Don’t ask questions, answer mine.”

“Yeesh, all right,” Lance muttered, sliding back down to the ground. “I didn’t ask too many questions—to them, anyways. He said he saw you and you went and disappeared, and was wondering if I knew where you’d fly off to.”

“And what’d you say?”

“That I didn’t know,” he confessed with a shrug. “Seriously. Other than here and your house I wouldn’t know where to find you. That’s what I told him. I also mentioned that sometimes you go off for a few days or weeks to gods know where without so much as a note, so it isn’t all that strange. But disappearing in a horde of birds? You gotta teach me that one.”

“Maybe another time,” Keith said, now staring down at the remainder of his meal. There wasn’t much for Keith to chastise Lance for, though he knew he wanted to. But the kid didn’t give too much away—it was probably a good thing he kept Lance in the dark about most things. As far as anyone knew, Keith was just an average sorcerer running an apothecary. Flourishes like teleportation and human control were beyond them, Lance included.

Of course, there were rumors, or ‘legends’ more like, claiming that Keith’s expertise went beyond curing illnesses with finely-tuned medicines. Most of them faded once they reached the town, or were less impressive than where they started—at the root of the problem. Of this bundle of people who knew just what Keith was capable of, the man in his house now was one of them.

“So…” Lance drawled, leaping up and sitting on the edge of the countertop, “how do you know them? They don’t look like they are from around here.”

“They aren’t,” he confessed, and muffled the rest of his words behind his food. Knowing Lance, word about Shiro and his apprentice would spread like wildfire. “Don’t ask questions. I’ll be in the back if you need me.”


	2. { the future }

Keith scowled at the front of his house this time. The smoke was still rising from the chimney, smelling of firewood and herbs. It was perhaps his favorite smell, and the scent that lingered on him wherever he went. It was later in the year, and so much of the plants in front of his house were either dead, or dug up from the ground. It gave the cabin a rather shabby appearance, but when winter arrived, no one could tell what lay underneath the mountains of snow. During that season, Keith didn’t bother with the shop. He worked on a call-by-call basis, making medicine as he went now that his entire harvest supply was stocked and preserved.

He stood there on the stone walkway until the door opened, and Shiro stepped out. He was probably only standing there for two minutes before Shiro came. 

As Shiro stepped off the porch, Keith surveyed the damage two years made. His eyes hardly changed—still calculating and analytical, intimidating—but just below them, severing the bridge of his nose, was a hefty mark displaying angry red scar tissue. Stubble accented his chin in a dark black strap over his jawline, but it was cleaned up since three days prior. Keith could tell, based on the freshly shaven skin just under his chin, and the clearcut line where the razor evened out the hairline. 

He was wearing a sweater now, and Keith wondered how the hell he found it. After Shiro left, Keith went through great pains to shove all of Shiro’s belongings out of his sight. That meant his clothes went into cubbies in the floorboards, and he recognized the sweater. It wasn’t one Shiro took with him when he left.

“You…” Shiro started, hesitating a few paces away. Keith narrowed his eyes at him, warning him to choose his words wisely. “You look like you could go for a drink. I’ll make you something, if you’d like?”

Keith’s glare didn’t subside, but he did brush past him and to the door. It was as much of a positive response Shiro was going to get at the time.

When Keith stepped foot into his house, it felt warm and lived-in, having been maintained by Shiro and his apprentice for several days. A fire was going on the hearth, and any available candles were lit. There was an arrangement of sitting pillows in the living room, and he found a familiar girl sitting on one, barefoot, and poking at something in the fire.

She looked up, registering that Keith’s hard eyes were on her. “I… I never really introduced myself,” she said, patting her hands onto her legs before standing. “I go by Pidge.”

Shiro’s apprentice held her hand out, waiting for Keith to accept it, but he continued to glower at her. Eventually, she dropped her hand when Keith turned away and headed for another room.

He returned with a clawed metal pole. Pidge looked at it as if he was about to stab her with it, but he simply raised it to the highest point in the room, to where a spherical object hung. The hook gripped the handle on the object, and pulled open a small flap.

He set the hook on a nearby chair before tensing his fists and flushing them out, sweeping to the sides. Every last candle in the room went out, as if a massive gust of wind came and pitched the room into darkness. The only source of light came from beneath the flesh of Keith’s palms, glowing red and yellow through his skin.

It felt like all the heat in his body became condensed in his fingertips when it evaporated through his pores. When the light emerged, it was brighter, and more encompassing than dozens of candles, and took its place in the spherical chandelier.

As he shut the case, he heard Pidge clapping to the side. “That was incredible!” she exclaimed, leaping over to stare up at the light. Keith brought his hand down on her head and forced her gaze away. 

“Don’t stare at it too long. It’s like staring at the sun, even if it is dimmer,” Keith warned. She shut her lips, still smiling. 

Keith combed both of his hands through his hair and flicked away a few stray strands as he looked for Shiro, and found him observing from the kitchen. It took a moment for Keith to remember why he was furious in the first place. “I’ll be outside,” Keith finally said.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Tea, thanks,” he said, snatching up his satchel and halfway to the door. He paused in the doorway and added, “You know where it is” before hurrying away.

Keith flipped open the leather flap on his bag and rifled around inside. Gradually, he began extracting a full-sized blanket from inside, walking off through the grass and to an overgrown cobble walkway. It broke away between the pine needles, and the path was so familiar that his repeated footprints were cleared away from the grass growing over the rocks. He tossed the blanket over his shoulder and buried his hand into his pocket. He pulled out the bracelets, the necklaces, and tied them on as he forged his way up a set of stone steps and to the flattened rock he visited daily. 

Three days away prompted this visit more so than ever.

It was the reason Keith lived here in the first place. Just as sorcery took from its host, it was willing to replenish. At least, to a willing and worthy victim. Some would call it a symbiotic relationship, but Keith never saw the benefit it gave magick. Magick, the core element of sorcery, seemed like the sort of humanistic thing people took for granted, and living so close to this well proved that Keith was no different. 

He laid the blanket out on the slab of rock where the well sat. It was a massive pit in the ground, surrounded by a brick lining and carved stone. A circular mandala-esque pattern emerged from around the bricks, and disappeared under the blanket Keith laid out. He set his satchel aside, fishing out the jar of salt from his pocket, and a vial of powder from his satchel. 

He sprinkled the salt around the well, mixing it with the reddish substance in the vial. The posts outside of the circle stood eerily against the pines farther away, and as Keith splayed his hands out all at once, the posts took on flames at their tips, illuminating the dim circle.

The gems on Keith’s wrists clanked together, and he felt their firm weight down to the sharp edge of his nails and the way the well begged for him to fall face first into it, feel the water surge around him and envelope his hands, his arms, shoulders and head—he remembered how hard it was to resist the urge the first time around. It used to be so crippling, the want to sink in headfirst—he was thankful his own teacher had been there to hold him back and stop the ritual. Diving headfirst into the well was a death sentence.

Keith sat on the blanket, laying his palms flat on the rock in front of him. He pumped his hands against the stone, like performing CPR on a patient, and instantly fire blazed around the rim, where the powder and the salt sat in a ring around the opening.

The heat soothed the tension in Keith’s shoulders, and he bowed his head as the sound of rushing water filled him. It doused the heat barreling inside him, rolling up from his toes to his hair. The rush of cool air conquered, and quelled the pressure. 

As his breathing evened out, flattening, slowing, the flames pulsed with his lungs. And soon, they dwindled to nothing—not even ash remained. When he sat up, he felt infinitely better.

He heard footsteps down the path, and Keith sighed. It wasn’t a depressed sort of sigh—he was simply content now. By the time he put away the salt and power, and folded up the blanket, Shiro appeared and waited on the outskirts of the circle with a mug of tea. 

Keith walked over and accepted it, clutching it between both hands. The ritual refreshed his system, and without the buildup of heat underneath his skin, he felt the true temperature of the mug, and how chilled his nose and ears felt.

“Better?” Shiro asked, and Keith nodded. “I should have waited until after dark to come back. Our travels went… smoother than usual.”

“It’s fine. I might not have even done the ritual that day anyway,” Keith confessed. “I haven’t used that much in a few weeks.”

“I’m sorry.” Shiro’s apology struck Keith has humorous, so he laughed. “I am serious—I caught you off guard. Perhaps if I would have sent a letter—”

“Then you would not have even found me here,” Keith argued, side-stepping him and heading back down the steps. “It’s fine if you and… Pidge stay here for a while longer. I’ll just visit the city and run errands until you two leave. With winter coming I should probably make another trip anyway.”

“Don’t be like this, Keith,” Shiro said from behind, and Keith half expected him to reach for him, hold him by the shoulders like he used to. “We came specifically to see you—I don’t want you to leave just because—”

“Don’t make assumptions about what I do and why,” Keith argued, turning on him and stopping him in his tracks. “Whatever _you_ have to do no longer includes me, understood? You made that _very_ clear the day you left.”

Keith was surprised Shiro could act so hurt when he was simply repeating their last argument, the one that occurred just before Shiro decided to pick up his life and transport it hundreds of miles away from Keith. And for the most _trivial_ , _impossible_ task…

“I _still_ don’t understand your logic. _At all_ ,” Keith hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest before turning and bringing the mug to his lips. Cinnamon and cardamom—a never-ending favorite in autumn. “You had _one lead_ and that was enough to drop everything? And you call _me_ unrealistic half the time. Just because I am a sorcerer does not automatically check me off as deranged.”

“That was a long time ago,” Shiro shouted, following close at Keith’s heels. “Before I even _believed_ in sorcery or that people could wield it—but you have to admit, sometimes your tricks _are_ a bit demented.”

“ _Tricks?_ ” Keith snarled, clutching so hard at the mug that he feared it would shatter. 

“You set my hair on fire and turned it purple all in the same day!” As soon as the words escaped Shiro’s mouth, Keith gave him a sideways look as if to say, “Well, now your hair is white—was _I_ the one to do that?” 

They arrived in the backyard once more, and Keith stewed his anger in the mug for a moment before turning to Shiro and hissing, “I am leaving tomorrow. You know how to contact me when you and Pidge are gone.”

“Come on, Keith,” Shiro complained, throwing his arms down. “I haven’t even told you _why_ we came back—”

“To see me?” he concluded. “You said that already.”

“Yes, but I have to show you something as well,” Shiro finished, stepping ahead and holding the door open for Keith. He glowered at him as he passed, and crossed the threshold into the warmth of the cabin. 

Shiro led him to the living room, where he then took a seat at one of the pillows. His apprentice, Pidge, was at the hearth with the iron poker again, and she looked back as they came in. “Can you get a hot pad? Preferably one that _isn’t_ cloth and stands off of the table?” she asked Shiro, who agreed to it.

When he came back with stand that he then placed on the low-sitting table in the living room. Keith stared at it, and then at Shiro, before returning his attention to Pidge when she said, “I need the tongs.”

At that point Keith looked to the fire, eyes going wide before staring at Shiro. “Don’t tell me—” he started, but broke off as Pidge took the tongs and reached into the flames.

Hidden from view, tucked between the logs, was what appeared to be a ball. It emerged from the fire glowing red and white, like the embers that shimmered at the floor of the hearth. Keith sat up higher, kneeling as the bundle of heat was set on Keith’s stone table, supported by the hot stand.

It burned straight through the hot stand.

“Holy shit, sorry about your stand,” Pidge said, and thankfully the table remained intact. Keith waved her off, pressing his hands to the table and leaning over it. It still continued to shimmer red and white, yellow and orange. 

“Are you kidding me?” Keith gawked, “I—This is the real thing, right?” 

Shiro now took a seat adjacent to Keith, and leaned an arm on the table, a sufficient distance away from the heat. “Well… we think so,” he said, and Keith watched him glance at Pidge, who bit her lip and set the tongs aside, studying the egg that sat in front of them. “We didn’t find her in her natural habitat, so we can’t even be sure her mother or father are still alive. So we have no living proof until she actually hatches.”

“But I am almost certain it’s a real dragon egg,” Pidge added, adjusting her glasses. “We have been studying every species that lays eggs and it shows all the signs, weight, shape of an egg—specifically one that was laid by a dragon. We spent months at the only standing research library containing all dragon-based literature, and the eggs themselves were said to be the size of a human egg, and can get as large as a two-foot long boulder.”

“Though, most were speaking theoretically,” Shiro said. 

“So for all we know this could be—” Keith hesitated to finish it, because he was certain any regular egg would have turned to ash by now. 

“Some people believe dragons gain their abilities directly after birth—its why in legends, dragon egg shells were said to be immensely valuable,” Pidge explained. “The infant dragon—drake—eats the fire-resistant shell and later in life produces scales that have a chemical structure very similar to that of the shells they emerged from. It’s quite fascinating, actually.

“In legends, people would eat a shard of a dragon’s shell and gain the ability to walk through fire. But of course, that’s legend, and before sorcery became a viable way to wield fire without burning oneself—our evidence: your little light-show earlier.”

Keith was in awe, wishing he could hold it, but not even his hot-streak was enough to protect him from an incubating dragon egg. “Put it back in the fire,” he said, but leaned in to watch, as if wanted to keep it as close as possible when Pidge steadied the tongs against the shell and carried it back to the fire. She propped it against the logs and covered it with some of the embers and ash.

“Where did you…?” he started, crawling over to observe the flames as they lapped around the mound of glowing dust. 

“A continent over,” Shiro said, and Keith looked at him in shock. “In Arus.”

“Seriously?” Keith gawked. “How far is that?”

“About a month’s travels,” Pidge said, drawing Keith’s attention to her. “We stopped at a lot of places along the way, so about three months getting there. We didn’t exactly know it was our destination until we met with a native tribe. When we asked about legends their people might have had surrounding dragon-lore, they directed us to the Arusian mountains.”

“Incredible,” he mused. “But if her parents were not around at the time you found her…?”

“We hope that the egg has merely remained dormant,” Shiro said. “We learned that an unstimulated fetus can remain dormant for hundreds of years—at least, it has to be a species of dragon for this to remain true. We’ll see in a few weeks if that is true.”

“Weeks?” Keith repeated, and glanced to the window. It was entirely pitch black outside, but he was reminded of his nonexistent gardens, plants, dying in the cold. He turned back to Shiro with a glare. “Why did you bring it here? It will be winter soon.”

“After it hatches,” he said, fidgeting a little, “I wanted to, perhaps, convince you to come with us. We have another lead, to a dragon egg, but we can’t take a drake with us.”

“What are you suggesting,” Keith deadpanned, eyes narrowing.

“That you move to Arus, and take care of the drake,” he answered, and quickly added, “Arus is _beautiful_ , Keith—the entire time we were there I was hoping to one day bring you with me. You’d be able to study entirely new species of herbs and fruits, and the natives are _incredible_. You’d be able to learn so much from them.”

“You’re asking me to pick up my entirely life here just to take care of your infant dragon?” Keith reiterated, voice every variation between irritated, and offended. “Do you realize how much that sounds like you had a child and can’t take care of it so you dump it on me?”

“It isn’t like that, Keith,” Shiro said, and he nearly rolled his eyes. “Imagine being able to care for a _dragon_. You’d be the first ever human to mother a _real live_ dragon.”

“ _Mother_. What did I just say?” Keith hissed. “I’m _not_ taking that responsibility, not if it means moving to a continent I’ve never been to. Did you seriously think I would agree to that?” 

Shiro had a look of desperation on his face, as if he couldn’t understand why Keith was being so difficult. Pidge looked between the both of them, appearing more than a little concerned.

“The egg won’t hatch for another few weeks,” she offered, setting the tongs aside. “Maybe even longer. So it’s not like you have to decide this very instant. You can wait until she hatches, and then make your decision.” _I don’t need a few weeks to make this decision_ , Keith thought irritably, but merely scowled instead, leaning back with his arms crossed. 

He glared at Shiro once more before getting up and declaring, “I’ll be working if you _don’t_ need me.”

“Wait, there’s something else I picked up for you,” Shiro interrupted, standing up and moving over to his massive backpack. It was probably the size and twice the weight of Shiro’s own torso and head, and from one of the many pockets he produced a tin. “I organized everything in it and labeled the top of the lid, so you know which is which. I avoided entirely unknown plants but you might find these interesting. There was also a gem one of the natives gave us for luck. Considering we found the egg, I figured you might find it interesting, since I know you are interested in superstitions and such,” he explained, passing the tin over to Keith.

He took it and undid the latch. Inside were small compartments fastened shut, displaying small trinkets, plants, herbs, dried fruits. He opened one and tasted its aroma on his tongue before shutting it. 

That night after he was certain Shiro and Pidge were asleep, he tried his hand at tasseography. He was never very grand in the art of fortune telling, but what he lacked in innate knowledge, he could somewhat grasp when it physically manifested itself in palms, or in this case, tea leaves. But the amount of memorization required for that study led Keith to simply collect books instead of learning them. He wasn’t a fortune teller. He was an apothecary.

So, under the dim light of a candle, Keith sat himself on the center countertop and heated a kettle of water. He poured it over the tea leaves slowly and meticulously before drinking the tea, without removing the leaves. After a while the tea started to taste bitter, but that wasn’t the point of this method. 

In the end, he came upon a rim of slim black tea needles, and a pile of it sat on the bottom, smeared up the side where he drank from. As he was flipping through the heavy-bound pages of a leather tasseography book, he heard something rustle in the living room. He glanced sparingly in that direction before returning to the book. 

“Go back to sleep,” Keith ordered.

“I’m curious,” Pidge said. She stood and pressed the pads of her fingers against her eyes. She returned her specs to her face before taking the trek across the cabin and to the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Reading the tea leaves.”

“Fortune telling?” she mused softly, now hopping up to seat herself on the countertop. She watched him in silence as he flicked through pages upon pages upon pages. “What are you doing? Can’t you read the leaves?”

“I am not a fortune teller, in case you couldn’t tell,” Keith huffed, glaring at her pointedly. “Not even _I_ am good enough to master medicine _and_ the future.”

“Interesting.” She stopped talking as Keith paused on a page and lifted up the mug to inspect the markings on the saucer. It was the only fortune telling cup he owned, and he huffed in annoyance when they didn’t line up. “I just wanted to apologize for invading your home,” Pidge murmured. 

Keith huffed again, this time to acknowledge that he heard her. 

“How long have you been doing this sort of thing?” she asked.

“I have been able to control magick since I was about three,” he answered. “That’s when I was taken in by my teacher. She taught me everything that she could. She wasn’t a great fortune teller either.”

“What was her name?” 

“Allura. She came from Altea.”

“Really?” Pidge appeared surprised, as did most people when they found out who Keith’s teacher was. “That’s amazing. She must have been a magnificent teacher.”

“She certainly knows a lot,” he agreed. “Now stop talking—I’m thinking.”

Pidge sealed her lips shut and waited as Keith waited, and soon the silence seemed to echo in the form of vibrations and pulses. He could feel the veins on his neck, his arms, down to the gentle prod of his fingertips against the ceramic cup. 

“Black cat,” Keith concluded under his breath, and flipped through a few more pages of his book before coming to the symbol. “Overlapping memory circle—and… I don’t know what that means. Dammit,” he cursed, setting the cup back down in defeat. “Palmistry is so much easier.”

“Would you read my palm?”

“I would hate to get it wrong,” he confessed. “But hate just as much to get it right.”

Pidge deflated with pouted lips and slouched shoulders. He studied her for a moment before thinking, _What the hell_ , and reached out for her hand. All at once she was herself again, leaning in as Keith flattened out her hand, curled her fingers, straightened them again. 

Her hands were small, flat, squarish yet with an odd sense of dexterity that an analytical, organized individual would have—and given her personality Keith defaulted to that seeing as matron-like tendencies were counteractive to her style of life. She wore her fingernails short, almost chewed, and the knuckles on her fingers were rough. The pads of her fingers were calloused. 

He studied the life-line specifically, and how it branched near the middle and forked against the head-line, creating an island. “It seems you will have to adjust to a new lifestyle in the future, and that it will cause emotional or physical stress. But your head-line suggests that you aren’t prone to emotional trauma, and that… you have a brilliant mind that functions spontaneously, but with accuracy.”

“Wow,” Pidge said, eyes wide. “That… sounds like complete horseshit but I’ll take it. Did you recite that from a book?”

“Perhaps,” Keith chuckled. “I’ve always been pretty good at memorizing. It’s just a matter of applying it. Don’t take everything I say to heart—because evidently you’re horrendous with commitment.”

“You aren’t wrong,” she laughed lightly, and glanced behind her at the living room where her blankets were spread out alongside Shiro’s. “But… I guess that’s one of the many things that makes me different from him. He still really… admires you, Keith.”

“Admiration isn’t something I strive for when other people view me,” Keith said. “But I appreciate the sentiment. You should head back to bed. The sun will wake you up at five-thirty in the morning.”


	3. { the apprentice }

“This building was under construction last I recall,” Shiro mused aloud as he followed close behind Keith. He had his satchel slung over his shoulders, on top of his heavy grey sweater, and underneath his bored expression. 

“It’s the bakery,” Keith explained. “It opened up a month after you left.”

“Smells good,” Pidge said, wandering up to the arched, glass windowpane and peering in at the arrangement of pastries and bread in baskets and bowls. The display was flourished with a lace table cloth and fine napkins lining the woven baskets. Keith paused a few steps away, realizing that they both stopped now to look in. 

Keith sighed when Shiro suggested he get something for Pidge. “No, you don’t have to pay,” she argued, waving her hand at him and moving for the door. 

Shiro held the door open, but Keith made no move to enter. “You go ahead then. We’ll meet you at your store in a bit,” Shiro suggested.

Keith’s expression turned cross as Shiro disappeared into the baker’s shop after Pidge. After a moment of debating, he groaned and wandered back to the front door.

The tinkle of a bell rang overhead as Keith entered, and he grimaced as Shiro looked back at him, as if surprised that he decided to tag along. He was tentative as he meandered towards the display cases, because in a matter of seconds a hoot of excitement erupted from behind the counter.

“Look who we have here!” the big man shouted, stepping out from behind the counter to throw his arms up. “Keith, my favorite virtuoso!”

“Again, I don’t play instruments, Hunk,” he muttered, and bunched up his shoulders and Hunk bent down and gave him a massive bear hug—enough to pick his feet off the ground. 

“You know what I mean though.”

“I really don’t.”

“That’s okay, whiz-kid,” Hunk said, setting him back on his feet and patting his hair for good measure. “We have new customers? I should introduce myself: you may call me Hunk, I own this bakery.”

Pidge held her hand out and introduced herself, followed by Shiro, who commented, “Last I was here it seemed like you were just getting on your feet.”

Hunk grinned and said, “Figures—I couldn’t remember many names or faces back then. Everything was rather hectic. Did you live around here?”

“Yes, for a time.” At this, Shiro glanced over at Keith, and he glowered back, then turned his glare on Pidge, who pursed her lips as if to say, “Don’t look at me!”

After the chitchat was done, Hunk casually navigated the conversation back to the pastries. “What can I get you all? I just took out a fresh sheet of berry scones…” He was smiling almost evilly at Pidge, who looked about ready to drool. 

Shiro glanced once at her and said, reaching into his pocket, “We’ll take three of those.”

It wasn’t until Hunk already had their bag together, and the coins were exchanged, that Keith realized that three scones meant one for _him_. Pidge grabbed for the bag eagerly, and began nibbling on the soft pastry. Shiro passed the bag to Keith, who made no attempt to take it. “Just one, please? Did you have anything for breakfast?”

Keith sneered at Shiro before reaching a hand into the bag. “Just this once,” he warned. As Shiro turned back to thank Hunk, Keith mused to himself, _Still admires me, huh?_

“Here, Keith,” Hunk interrupted his thoughts, passing a bag over the counter. “Give this to Lance for me, yeah? I figure you are on your way to the shop.”

“I am,” he answered, and took the bag. He tried not to feel bitter about the fact that Hunk took joy in giving free handouts to his friends. Almost every day Lance came in with some free treat from Hunk’s bakery. There was nothing special about Keith’s association with Hunk, and thus, no free treats. He tended to remain distant from the general population—hence the fact that his home was on the outskirts of the town walls, like the farmlands estates.

As they left, Pidge spoke up. “Lance? That fellow behind the counter at your shop?” 

“Yes,” Keith said bluntly, gingerly rolling up the paper of the pastry bag. “He’s originally from a town about a week’s journey north. I am certain he would _love_ to talk about it if you brought it up.”

“He does seem like a talker,” she admitted.

After a moment, Shiro commented, “He’s an apprentice?” Keith’s skin boiled, but he didn’t answer. “You have an apprentice?” It came out in a shocked tone that he bristled at. He knew it would come as a surprise to Shiro, but it was still agitating to be classified as the sort of guy who wouldn’t _want_ an apprentice (not that Keith did, but it aggravated him nonetheless)

“What makes you say that?” Pidge said.

“People don’t usually up and leave their hometowns unless they have an apprenticeship elsewhere. And there aren’t many sorcerers this far north since Keith’s teacher left,” Shiro explained. “Either that or they would have sent Lance to the nearest city. That’s where most sorcerers congregated—even though there’s need of them in remote rural areas.”

“Not many rural people _believe_ that magick is real, either,” Keith said, pointedly looking at Shiro. 

“I was ignorant back then.”

“As per usual.”

“ _Keith_ , let’s not do this now.”

“Gods, sorry I’m third wheeling here,” Pidge muttered awkwardly, looking elsewhere until Shiro placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

“It’s really not,” Keith countered, glaring at Shiro as he picked up his pace and walked ahead. “There aren’t even two wheels here.”

  


If Keith thought about it too much, he would give himself an even greater headache than the one he currently suffered with. He pushed into the shop holding his hand against his head. “Do we have feverfew leaves?” he asked, walking down the length of the bookshelf towards the back room as Lance’s eyes turned up from the book on the counter to watch after him. As Keith passed, he dropped the pastry bag on the counter and said, “From Hunk.”

“Joy. It’s not like I would ever think it was from _you_ ,” Lance jested, sticking his tongue out at Keith before cracking open the bag.

Keith swung over the counter and, after landing on his feet, swept his arm across his chest, hand whisking through the air. The jars on the shelves rattled, and before they could collapse they froze in their places, and the one he looked for dropped out. He grabbed it out of the air and popped the cap, reaching in with pinchers to pull out a nimble leaf.

“I don’t get how you can just _do that_ without _destroying everything_ ,” Lance complained. “You won’t even let me try it!”

“Because you’ll _destroy everything_ , as you call it,” Keith argued, and in the midst of it, the doorbell jangled and Shiro and Pidge arrived. 

The instant they came through the doorway, Lance abandoned his pastry treat to shout: “You know Keith! Tell me all of his embarrassing stories he refuses to share with me!” 

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith hissed, and he swept his hand up as if prepared to strike. It was enough for Lance to sit back down and don a slightly terrified, but hardly guilty expression. “Don’t tell him anything. He’s a coward and a traitor and everything you say will be reported directly to the entire town.”

“That’s a powerful force, one that cannot be reckoned with,” Pidge mused darkly. “If I knew anything I would tell you straight away, Lance. We apprentices must stick together.”

“You’re—wait, does that mean…?” Lance started, pointing to Shiro, who shook his head, raising his hands in surrender.

“No, just ordinary. I’m an explorer—we just returned from an expedition,” he confessed, smiling in a way Keith normally would have found endearingly sheepish, but that emotion swiftly shifted to the urge to punch him. How those two sentiments connected? Keith wasn’t sure.

“An expedition… impressive,” Lance mused. “Where to?”

“Arus,” Shiro answered, and tried in vain to quell Lance’s excitement, but he was already on top of the counter leaping to the other side to pester him with a dozen questions. It was a country most rural folks weren’t familiar with, let alone willing to learn about it when they were fated to never go there. Lance, though, was educated—thanks to Keith’s insistence. 

Lance asked all the questions Keith failed to, and didn’t want to, bring up. Perhaps it was his childish fear of having his curiosity mistaken for affection. But thankfully, those holes in Keith’s knowledge were filled when Shiro and Pidge sat down and began a detailed story on their endeavors journeying to Arus.

“We walked for the majority of the journey—if you track it by hours spent traveling, anyways. Walking always takes longer than horseback,” Pidge was saying. “But on occasion we did travel by horseback, if we were being accompanied by other travelers with spare mounts, or something of the sort. When we visited native villages, they would give us tours through the canyons on donkeys.”

“ _Canyons?_ ”

“Yes, they are massive divisions in the land made by ancient rivers eroding away at the rock and soil,” she explained, gesturing with her arms in a sweeping, snake-like motion. “In some cases the rock structures look like damp sand you dripped from your hand to form small, narrow towers. Have you ever been to the ocean?” 

“No,” Lance answered. “You do that at the ocean?”

“Well, there wasn’t much time for vacation at the beach,” Shiro said, “but we trekked the fifty-mile trail following the coastline. It was the only way to reach the glaciers before the melting season.”

“Incredible. What are glaciers like?”

“Covered in snow even though it was warm out,” Pidge concluded.

“Amazing.”

“Truly.”

“So how old are you if you have already studied in the cities?” Lance inquired, and Pidge shrugged.

“I never reveal my age.”

“By that she means eighteen,” Shiro corrected, pinning her with a disapproving look. She simpered a little, folding her arms with that devilish smirk curling her lips. “We celebrated her birthday about two months ago, when we were in Arus. The fruit they use in their wine tastes infinitely better than what we drink here.”

“We brought a flask of it back,” Pidge said. “I think it’s somewhere in my backpack. I still haven’t gone through it.”

“Really? Where are you both staying?” Lance inquired, and Shiro nodded to Keith, who stood behind the counter and pretended as though he wasn’t paying attention. “Since when did you invite people to stay over? I swear I have only been to your house a handful of times.”

“Well, I would suggest you come over to taste test the wine… but that’s up to Keith,” Shiro said, and soon the three of them were staring at Keith. He remained solemn and unnervingly still on his countenance.

Lance was giving him his big doe-eyes, and normally Keith wouldn’t have bothered caving to them, but with Pidge and Shiro watching, he didn’t want to seem abnormally cruel. _Damn Shiro for suggesting it_ , he thought bitter. “Only for a bit,” he answered.

And so, following the closure of the store for the day, Lance accompanied their trio outside the town walls. As Pidge observed, Lance was a real talker, and kept up conversation the entire way to the house. Mostly, after Pidge asked a simple question about his hometown, it led to the discovery of magick for him.

“I was probably eight-or-so when I started showing symptoms,” Lance explained, “but I hate to use the word ‘symptoms’—it makes it seem like I was ill. I wasn’t. But it was incredibly subtle and was hardly noticeable. Simple things like manipulating animals and nature here and there. A rat once ran up my brother’s pant leg because I was furious with him, or when a pigeon attacked my sister’s hair—that was funny. Sometimes we’d be adventuring through the forest and I’d get through just fine, but my friends and siblings would get caught in vines or branches. Usually people would chart those off as unfortunate circumstances.”

“What made you think you were using magick?” Pidge asked. They were walking slightly ahead of Shiro and Keith, who kept a decent distance between their swaying arms. Eventually Keith took to clasping his satchel strap with both hands. 

“Well, later on this little instances started becoming obvious. I was seventeen or so and something tragic happened to my family, and my mood started shifting with the weather—or the weather started shifting with my mood. Evidently it’s uncommon, because sorcerers are usually noticed early on in life, not seventeen years later. And since there was such a small chance that a sorcerer would be born to the family, my parents didn’t think anything of it.

“But after a particularly awful storm I conked out and was unconscious for over a day. I didn’t know at the time, but I never replenished the magick I’d been taking, and it really took its toll. I was ill for probably a week afterwards, until my gran suggested the idea. She traveled when she was younger, knew more about magick than the rest of us. There hadn’t been a sorcerer in our village for… _decades_ , maybe centuries?

“That’s when my mother decided to contact Keith,” Lance said, glancing back at him. 

“What about the well?” Pidge asked. “Shiro mentioned that you have to visit the well after using so much magick.”

Lance went quiet, and Keith wasn’t surprised. His first visit to the well was not a happy experience. Though, Keith had seen worse things than a sorcerer gone mad at the sight of so much power.

“You have to get accustomed to it,” Keith interrupted. “It took a while for Lance to be able to visit the well.”

“It still gives me nightmares.”

“It’s _still_ taking him a while,” Keith corrected, grinning sardonically when Lance glowered at him from over his shoulder.

When they approached the house, Lance walked straight through the front door without hesitation. There were several ravens perched on the roof ledge, cawing and clicking their beaks at Keith as he passed. He paused for a moment to raise a hand up to them. He didn’t expect all five of them to come and weigh down his arms and shoulders. 

He winced a little as their claws dug into his skin, and he heard Pidge giggling from the porch. Shiro reached a hand out, but at Keith’s scowl, one of the ravens nipped at his fingers. “I have to check on the cages. You can head inside,” he told them, and, sporting the heavy weight of full-sized ravens, started the trek around the house. 

The front door shut before Keith picked up on the fact that a pair of footsteps were following after him. He didn’t have to turn to know exactly who it was. “Go inside,” he ordered.

“I want to talk.” Shiro’s voice sounded concerned, and no more than several paces behind him. “About you taking up an apprentice.”

“What about it? Lance is a good kid.”

As Keith said it, one of the ravens took flight from his shoulder, and the batting of her wings brushed Keith’s bangs away from his eyes. Shiro had yet to respond, so he glanced back at Shiro and said, “Lance is still only nineteen. And it’s taken an entire year for him to even be able to control the magick he _does_ use. He is one of the reasons I am against picking up and moving to Arus.”

“Is he really just a kid to you?” Shiro asked, and it took Keith a moment to pick up on the influx in his voice. Keith snickered a little, and disappeared into the shed. “I’m seriously, Keith—Four year’s difference is not all that much. I can’t imagine this is anything like your relationship with Allura. She was practically a mother to you—”

“For gods’ sake, Shiro,” Keith huffed, laughing a little. “I can barely stand to be around the kid for half a day, in case you didn’t notice. The only times he’s ever _been_ in my house was for gardening, and a few instances with the well or lessons.”

Inside the shed it was dark, and lit only where the ravens came through their pens on the outer wall. He opened a few of the cages and returned the ravens on his arms to their rightful places. He tossed in seed—though many of them were able to gather food on their own. He gave a generous amount to the newest addition. 

As he worked, Shiro joined him in the shed and leant against the wall. After a brief interlude of silence, Keith sighed and said, “Pidge mentioned last night that you still admire me.”

“When did she mention that?” he asked, surprised.

He didn’t want to admit to it, but he couldn’t skip around it, “I attempted to read tea leaves again, and she was interested. We talked for a short while.”

Shiro’s only response was, “Oh.” Keith put the cap on the seed tin before Shiro even answered the initial statement. “She’s right, about my feelings for you. Nothing’s changed.”

“ _Everything_ has changed—”

“No, it hasn’t,” Shiro argued. “My feelings for you haven’t. The house hasn’t changed, _you_ haven’t changed—you still wear your hair long, you are still so aloof it kills me inside.” He stepped across the shed to where Keith stood, shaking with what could have been the cold, or the rage at being accused of being identical to the man that loved Shiro. 

He gingerly reached for Keith’s hands, which were bunched up on his satchel strap. “You still keep your bracelets in those never-ending pockets. You still _wear_ those never-ending pockets daily. Do you ever wash them?”

“On occasion. It’s a hassle—I have to take everything out of them and then wait weeks for the pockets themselves to dry out,” Keith muttered, staring down at the fingers Shiro held his with. His thumb massaged the faint, scarred markings over the back of Keith’s hand. They were white, even paler than his own skin. Shiro’s fingers were tan, almost brown against Keith’s skin. 

Perks of being an explorer.

“Let’s not talk about you moving to Arus,” Shiro suggested. “We don’t even have to talk about the drake, or anything you don’t want to discuss. I just want… to be close to you again.”

The ravens, which had already been skittish at that point, started batting their wings against the cages, and a few even let out shrill caws of warning. Keith’s brows condensed, and his insides twisted. How was he supposed to respond? What did Shiro expect him to do? 

Ambivalent, Keith pulled his hands away and clung to the strap across his chest once more. He glared off to the side and even if he did have something to say, the words never would have escaped past the bulge in his throat.

Shiro seemed to get the message, as he always did. He was always good at reading the signs, especially the obvious ones, such as the ravens squawking at him. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be pressuring you. That was… wrong of me.”

_It’s fine_ , Keith wanted to say, but swallowed the words. He brushed past Shiro on his way out of the shed, and pressed the back of his palm to his cheek. But everything felt increasingly hotter than he remembered it being before this impromptu chat.


	4. { the ritual }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi sexy-times ahead beware tread lightly good luck.

Keith was incredibly particular about what dreams he remembered, and those he didn’t. His room was a patchwork of everything and anything he collected that didn’t have a place elsewhere, which included his many detailed, and analytical, dream journals. 

For a while, after Shiro left, he dreamt continuously about ravens. It was always the ravens—from the second he closed his eyes, to the moment he awoke in the morning. They filled his head with wings and air and kept him sane in sleep. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Shiro occupied his thoughts when he dreamed, when he was constantly on his mind throughout the day. It was a relief to sleep and have the company of ravens when he couldn’t have the company of Shiro.

Eventually, he took to training them. Before, they merely observed him as he observed them. They seemed to follow along with what he did, but before they were tamed, they would often peck at him when he didn’t want them to, or become agitated at times and nip at his hair before flying off. Their tempers were better now.

He imagined it was a bit of a surprise for Shiro to find that Keith became a raven expert during the two year span. 

After several weeks of nonstop dreams of ravens, they began to fade. It was around the time where Keith stopped grieving the loss of his relationship with Shiro, and he became numb. He felt numb for a while, but by the time he started apprenticing Lance, he was better—if not more bitter than usual.

But now, when Shiro staying in his house, Keith woke up in the middle of the night glaring at the ceiling where multi-colored tule was strung around the rafters. He refused to write down any dream he had of Shiro, and as such, he wound up not writing anything for the first week of Shiro and Pidge’s stay. He couldn’t seem to stop dreaming of the man in the other room.

At first they were simple, discombobulated scenarios that Shiro made appearances in at infrequent intervals. But they swiftly turned to fantasies with the main subject being Shiro, in winter, in fall, in summer. Beside Keith, in front of him, holding his hands and saying something ridiculous that made him laugh and startle himself awake. 

He couldn’t keep thinking like this. Not if he wanted to stay sane.

So he brought to mind a dream-expulsion recipe and made a tea with it. It was incredibly late—or, as some would call it, incredibly early—when Keith padded across the floorboards and into the kitchen. His hefty wool socks kept his steps muted, but after pouring the tea into the kettle and heating it in his hands, the sound of running water seemed to wake up a certain someone.

Soon, Pidge’s silhouette rose from the living room floor and she stretched her arms high. Keith sighed a little as she plodded over. The fire was still going, as it would be for the next week, and before coming over she propped another log in with the dragon egg.

“How are you awake at such an ungodly hour?” she asked softly. “Is this a usual thing?”

“I get woken up easily,” Keith said, pouring the hot, steaming water into a teapot. “Would you like some? It prevents dreams.”

“Sure, why not,” she said through the yawn that spread her jaw wide. “Do you get bad dreams?”

“Not necessarily. Just vivid ones,” he answered. “It’s what wakes me up most of the time. That, or overthinking things.”

“That happens to me too—the overthinking things part,” she confessed, taking a seat. They stared at the tea pot for some time before she spoke again. “I think sometimes my brain is too full of _stuff_ to relax properly.”

“It’s a heavy burden to carry so many thoughts.”

“Indeed it is.”

Keith glanced towards the living room again, where he could see the glow of the fire highlighting the makeshift bed on the floor. The blankets were kicked up where Pidge emerged, and Shiro was a foot or two away, turned on his side, away from the kitchen. 

“Can everyone use magick?” Pidge’s question brought Keith’s attention back to her, and the soft way she spoke.

“No,” Keith answered. “Picture it as a scale—full-fledged sorcerers are rated at five, and ordinary people are rated at zero. Those grouped under zero have no way of connecting to a source of magick. People rated with one are mistaken as ordinary, and are rather normal. A lot of the time they end up as scholars. Anything above two requires training.”

“What would you be rated as?” Pidge asked.

Keith hesitated to answer, and when he did he knew it was wrong. “Five.”

“And Lance?”

“He’s between three and four. His reception doesn’t always flow both ways when it comes to using magick. He rarely uses it consciously, which is why he might be considered a three,” he explained, and midway through he went in search of two mugs. 

“And what about me?” she asked. “I am a scholar.”

“It’s quite possible that you are on the sorcery spectrum,” he said, reaching high on the shelf and taking down two ceramic mugs. “There are ways to tell, but it wouldn’t do you any good to know. There are very few instances where people are able to jump from one number to another unless they’re already above a two. It means you won’t be able to manipulate magick yourself. It simply assists you with small, minuscule tasks. You could call it luck, accuracy, memory…”

“Like the luck of finding the dragon egg?”

“Precisely.”

“Some people would call that faith.”

“You are not entirely wrong.”

He passed her a full mug of tea no more than a minute later, and after cleaning the pot, Keith went back to his room, and Pidge back to the living room. He fell asleep with little difficulty after finishing the tea, and dreamt of only blackness. In the morning, he woke up to a strange, tingling feeling of disappointment in his chest.

  


  


“Lance promised he’d teach me the ropes at the shop,” Pidge explained. “I figured I could help out a little. I might not be able to prescribe medicine, but I could hold the fort while Lance bums around. You know he works every day of the week, right? Except weekends.”

“That’s what he is here for,” Keith said distractedly. He was paging through a book. “He came here to learn and work. At least that is the reason I am letting him live above the shop.”

“Do you not think he should have a social life?”

“He has one. He manages. It’s not like the shop is open all day—just in the mornings most days,” Keith said, irritated. She was questioning his choices and he didn’t appreciate it. “But do whatever you like. I don’t care.”

She stared at him as if she expected him to admit that he _did_ care. She had a way with reading expressions, he realized, and was thankful he managed to perfect his stoicism through the years. Eventually, she crossed her arms and said, “Right…” before leaving to fetch her coat. 

It wasn’t until Pidge was already out the door that Keith realized what that meant. Until then, he hadn’t spent a day alone with Shiro, and now he half-wished he’d gone with Pidge, even if it meant that Shiro would tag along with. At least then there would be others around to police them.

Keith swiftly buried his nose in his book again, consciously aware of the fact that Shiro was in the kitchen doing whatever. He hadn’t taken the time to check. “Would you like some eggs?” Shiro asked. “Sunny-side up.”

Keith peered over the pages of his book to where Shiro looked at him quizzically, an egg in hand. After a moment, he replied with, “Sure. Just one.”

“I’ll make you two.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“If you do not eat the second, then I will,” Shiro said, and promptly cracked two eggs and dispensed their innards onto the pan. 

Keith narrowed his eyes at Shiro skeptically before hiding them behind his book again. He stared at the page for a while until he was distracted by Shiro bringing his breakfast over. Keith realized he didn’t read a single word in that time frame. 

He set the book aside and took up the plate and fork. For a moment he simply stared at it, and then at Shiro, who took a seat on one of the sitting pillows near the mounds of blankets where he and Pidge slept. The fire was still going, and made Keith feel as though his body temperature finally matched the temperature in the house.

“You don’t eat breakfast often, do you?” Shiro commented, and Keith looked away, knowing full well that Shiro caught him staring.

“Not exactly.”

“It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“Maybe for people like you it is,” Keith said. “I cannot say I get the same level of exercise as you do, and therefore do not require as many nutrients early in the morning.”

He could sense Shiro’s eyes still on him, but he refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he tore away a bit of the egg whites and shoveled it into his mouth. There was just the right amount of pepper on it, and Shiro even included shallots.

When Keith finished both eggs, Shiro took the plates back to the kitchen. The pages of Keith’s book were quivering, and he couldn’t help but think, _This early in the morning_? 

He had a theory about magick, and perhaps the scholars in the city were already caught up with this, but the idea that magick was a symbiotic relationship was staring to seem one-sided. Lance was an example: The magick used him, if he let it. Lance was simply _letting it happen_ as opposed to controlling it. Keith had full control of his magick, but it meant that the excess built up, and created the effect of heated flesh and objects responding to his mental state. If he were to lose that control, the magick would escape him. As a sorcerer, it was his job to keep it in check.

But now, it made it obvious what his mental state was. So much for stoicism, when the ravens reacted, when the trinkets on the walls reacted, when the pages of his book reacted.

“I have a question for you,” Shiro said, taking a seat near Keith on the one couch in the living room. He sat with his body facing Keith, an arm over the back cushion. “I don’t remember you being able to move objects unconsciously, unless, you know, you were incredibly angry. Has it been happening a lot?” he asked.

Keith couldn’t remember when it started. It must have been after Shiro left. “I don’t know, really.”

“Is it… okay? What I mean is: Is it a problem?” he asked, brows knitting together in concern. Keith had his knees tucked up to his chest, and he let his quivering book fold close over them. 

“No, I don’t think so. It doesn’t happen often—only with emotional swings.”

“Does it _cause_ emotional swings?”

Keith scoffed, sneering at Shiro as he said, “Now you are just looking for an excuse as to why I am being so difficult.”

“It’s an honest question,” he said. “And also yes, that may be it. I just want to understand you. And… I wasn’t entirely right, where it concerns us never changing. You remind me more of how you were before we were in a relationship. It makes me question what I do know of you.”

Keith studied him with puckered lips and narrow eyes. He then turned his gaze to the fire, clasping his hands together over the book. “I _am_ sorry,” he said finally, “for being so difficult.”

“Then don’t be,” Shiro said, and he felt the cushion sink where he shuffled closer, enough so that he could touch his arm. 

“You don’t understand,” Keith said, irritated. It caused the supplies Pidge and Shiro had out on the table to shake. “You don’t understand what it was like when you left. I… I have never felt so useless and helpless before. And I don’t want to go through that again. It was torture, and you never even knew it was happening at the expense of your goddamn expedition.”

After a moment, Keith sniffed and rubbed the back of his hand against his eye. At this, Shiro brought his arms around Keith, and he melted into the embrace after a moment’s hesitation. “I lost control after you left,” Keith confessed feebly, pushing his face against Shiro’s chest. 

And then Shiro was pressing kisses all along the top of Keith’s head, squeezing hard around his shoulders and giving Keith a small reminder of what it had been like to be with Shiro. He ended by nestling his face against Keith’s neck, where his turtleneck covered the skin of his shoulder. He kissed his skin through the fabric. All the while he whispered, repeating, “I’m sorry, Keith—I’m sorry I was not there. I should not have left you like that.”

Keith took in a shaky breath of air and collapsed into a low whine that turned on the verge of a sob. He brought his arms around Shiro’s middle and the second the tears started rolling, he felt Shiro’s shoulders quake and he pressed damp eyes to Keith’s shoulder.

After they both calmed down, Shiro held his lips to Keith’s shoulder again before pressing them to where the fabric gave way to skin on his neck. Keith felt his eyes burning from post-crying, and moved a hand up to rub at the. “So much for makeup today,” he laughed a little, coming away with a slightly black finger. 

“You look fine.”

“I just smeared the entirety of my makeup and you’re telling me I look _fine_?” Keith laughed. “Damn, you are blindsided.”

Shiro pulled back from kissing his neck to press his lips beside Keith’s smeared eyeliner. “I just think you like fine either way. With or without raccoon eyes.”

He laughed, reaching a hand up to rub his eye again, but Shiro intercepted him. He leaned in and captured Keith by the lips, melding their lips together with soft, but urgent tenacity. Keith’s hand then fell over the line of Shiro’s jaw, pulling him closer until he was over Keith, laying him flat on the couch and pressing his tongue through Keith’s lips. His book tumbled to the floor.

Keith gripped Shiro’s shirt with his free hand, bundling it up in his fist. The heavy weight of Shiro’s solid hips against his was sending his entire body on fire. When they pulled back, they were both panting, and Shiro’s face was red from the heat. 

He leant back on Keith’s legs and tugged his ruffled shirt over his abdomen, and over his head. Keith stared in shock—not just at the fact that Shiro was firmer than before, but at the array of scars cutting over his tanned flesh. Before he could question them, Shiro was over him again, pressing wet kisses across his jawline and to his neck where he tugged at the turtleneck and said, “I want to see you. Please.”

Keith made a move to sit up, pushing Shiro back on his heels again. He was straddling Keith now, and eagerly tugged at the edge Keith sweater, and then again at the slim turtleneck underneath. Keith pretty much raised his arms and Shiro did all the work, revealing inch by inch the pale, flat figure underneath. The air hardly made a difference to him, not with his skin on fire like it was, and the flames crackling in the fireplace. 

Shiro made steady work nipping and biting at Keith’s flesh from his neck to his waistline. He arched his head back, toes curling and lower back rising off the couch. He felt the bruises forming over his neck, and how they pulsed with the movement of Shiro’s lips against his skin.

There was little rationale to the reason why Keith allowed Shiro to lift him from the couch with his legs around Shiro’s waist, clutching desperately to him, sharp black nails digging into Shiro’s skin. There was little logic to losing himself against the heavy quilts, their clothes forgotten, scattered between there and the living room. But he loved and loathed every second of it, and how he gave in to the primal hunger for it. He carved his longing into Shiro’s back as he threw his head against the pillows in ecstasy and moaned through his teeth. 

It wasn’t until they returned from the high of after-release that the sound of things falling around them became evident. Keith blinked in surprise, and, muscles still lax, managed to swipe his hand across the air. The remaining objects scattered back to their original places. Shiro laughed, muffling it against Keith’s bruise-speckled shoulder. 

“That’s never happened before,” Keith mused quietly, studying the books he didn’t quite catch on the ground. They were heaped on the carpet, entire piles tipped to the side. 

“I like it. Next time I want to watch everything levitate,” Shiro said, still chuckling. He clutched Keith around the waist. “Though watching you was perfect, as always.”

“Stop being so… agh, I can’t even think of the word right now,” Keith whined, pressing a hand to his eyes with a sigh. He felt like butter—melting, soft, all hard edges smoothed away.

His sigh sent him sinking into the mattress, and he wrapped a blanket over the both of them, like a cocoon. After a moment, Shiro’s lips latched on to his ear playfully before murmuring, “I’m going to get something to drink. Want anything?”

“There’s a flask of whiskey in my pant pocket.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest alcohol, but if you insist. We could finish that bottle we opened yesterday with Lance and Pidge,” he suggested, and Keith hummed his agreement.

A moment after Shiro left the room, Keith ducked off the mattress to scramble for his underwear and pants. He shimmied into them while still laying on the bed, and a moment later, he heard Shiro’s voice from the kitchen saying: “Uh… Keith—”

“What is it?” he said, getting to his feet and meandering out of the bedroom. 

The living room was in pieces, and it was a surprise any of the china survived, considering they were all laid out on the counter as if someone was preparing a banquet of some sort. A bag of flour tipped off the counter, and had spilled its contents across the tiles. 

Shiro stood in the middle of it and shrugged. “Perhaps it’s a good thing Pidge wasn’t here today?”

Keith scowled at him and said, “We aren’t having sex while she’s in the house. Not if this happens.”

  


It _was_ about time Keith went through the contents of his house, though. The last time he cleared it out had been after recovering from Shiro’s leave. The floorboard that housed all of Shiro’s things was then removed and sorted through. A thin layer of dust was over the sheet Keith laid over Shiro’s stuff, and after staring at it for a moment, Keith excused himself to reorganize the bedroom. He didn’t want to go diving through that floorboard, knowing that he put everything in there to begin with.

Eventually, Keith took away everything from the shelving units on his walls, which left stacks upon stacks of books on his floor and mounds of trinkets on his bed. There were spare blankets here and there and drawing and painting supplies. Decorative weaponry, ritualistic objects, stones and gems. 

When Shiro walked into the room, he could hardly step a foot inside before being stopped by a mound of journals. “Wow… I forget how much stuff you’ve collected,” Shiro commented. They were a decent distance from each other when Shiro at last sat down and started sifting through the journals. “Your notes are incredibly neat. You should see my field notes.”

“They are in contrast to what I experience in my head,” Keith answered vaguely, distracted as he began organizing books by topic, and sliding them onto the shelves. He accompanied them with an encased gem that glowed when he touched it. The close proximity of his hands sent the purple stone pulsing, and every now and then an object would do that. Make a noise, click, glow, turn a different color. He had plenty of trinkets like that from Allura, and people from the cities who practiced sorcery. Some would say he had long-distance friends, or maybe even admirers.

He hummed thoughtfully as he picked up a mannequin hand engraved with white symbols and lines. It mimicked the markings on his own hands, and the eyes against his palms. The eye was encased within an upward-facing triangle. “I remember first getting my marks,” he said aloud, and placed the trophy on a lower shelf, next to the flat front of a cat skull.

“Did you ever tell me about it?” Shiro asked.

“I don’t remember. It was a while ago—I was probably six years old.”

He glanced over at Shiro, who looked up from an open journal to study him. He cleared his throat and looked away, “I probably never mentioned it. I’m sure you assumed I just always had these tattoos. Though, they aren’t tattoos, exactly.”

“You’re right—I did assume that,” Shiro laughed a little, setting the journal aside. “You once explained what they were for, but I can’t remember exactly.”

“They aren’t chosen,” Keith explained, holding his palm up and then flipping it so Shiro could see the back of his hand. “The magick source decides for you. It’s a weeklong ritual and the entire time I spent without food or water—completely sustained by the source. It was incredible. I never felt… anything. It’s almost like deep meditation where you are no longer connected to the earth. Sometimes feeling ungrounded is satisfying.”

“And you were six years old?” Shiro repeated. “Isn’t that a bit young to being performing these sorts of rituals.”

“No, it happens whenever the individual is ready to accept their calling,” Keith explained. “After the ritual, the source marked me with the sun disc and the triangular eye. Allura had to interpret them for me, because it’s best to get an unbiased opinion. The sun disc represents Mother Earth and my connection to infinity, as well as the element of fire. The triangular eye is also connected to fire, but also omniscience and knowledge. She always thought I’d somehow gain the ability to read others the way I understand myself.

“It’s nice, though, having marks,” Keith said, smiling down at them, “because when I am around people who can interpret symbols themselves, we understand each other a lot better. There’s no pressure, not knowing what another person is like if they have their marks. That is probably my biggest regret leaving the cities. Everyone is so open there, and there are so many others like me.”

When he looked at Shiro next, the man gave him a solemn smile, as if sympathizing with him. Keith laughed again, turning away and gathering up another stack of books. “But I mean, if everyone could read my marks they’d know I like being independent and alone.”

“Will Lance get his marks?” Shiro asked curiously, and Keith blinked in surprise. 

Of course he thought about Lance getting his marks. Whatever the case, delaying the process wouldn’t change anything. If Keith went through the ritual the moment Allura took him in, or even if he waited five years later, the marks would have been the same.

“He will,” Keith decided after a moment, and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I just… I don’t know. It doesn’t make a difference when we do it. I think he’s nervous about the entire ordeal—being a sorcerer in general. It’s easy for him to think that he has no control, and… he’s told me before that getting his marks now seems like cheating when he hasn’t yet mastered basic sorcery.”

“But perhaps that’s what he needs to provoke his control,” Shiro suggested with a shrug. “Marks seem to be a status symbol in the sorcery world, and if he were to come across as a professional, perhaps he’d start acting like one.”

“I’ve considered that,” Keith admitted. “I would have to ask Lance. It’s really up to him, when he thinks he is ready. I am mostly afraid that the symbols will completely counteract how I have been teaching him. I can already tell he is heavily influenced by Mother Earth, but perhaps he isn’t fit for medicine? And yet I’ve been teaching him to memorize everything related to being an apothecary when—You know, this past summer Lance spent with me was the best harvest I’ve ever had? The kid could grow _entire_ plants within a week if given the chance to just sit around the garden. Have you seen my freezer lately?”

Shiro laughed, admitting that he had. “I thought you just doubled your gardening plot.”

“No, that was simply because Lance was around to maintain the garden,” Keith chuckled, hiding his smile behind his hand at the thought of it. Every day Lance spent in the garden, Keith would find him covered head to toe in dirt. He half-suspected Lance just rolled around in the mulch. 

So later that day, when Shiro planned to walk into town and pick Pidge up from the shop, Keith accompanied him. They found Pidge reclining in the single chair on the customer-side of the counter, nose buried deep in a book. Lance was exchanging coins with a little girl picking up medicine. She gave Keith a toothy grin on her way out, and called back to Lance, “Have a nice day, sir!”

“Oh gosh, thank you!” Lance said, blushing as he pressed both hands to his cheeks and smiled after her. “Children are so cute.”

“You evidently aren’t a child then,” Keith said, and Lance glowered at him in response.

Keith tugged at his turtleneck a little to ensure he was properly covered up. It took some convincing on his part to have Shiro wear a sweater that covered the reddish spot on his collarbone. Lance would have a field day if he ever discovered the nature of Keith’s relationship with Shiro prior to his expedition.

“What are you reading?” Shiro asked Pidge from across the room. She peered over the pages at them with a grin.

“I was just reading one of Keith’s books on sorcery,” she asked. “I think it’s interesting. How was your day?”

Keith knew he made a point not to look at him when he said, “It was great.”

“Really? With this lump of lard,” Lance snorted, jabbing his thumb in Keith’s direction. Keith sneered at him and grabbed his thumb and yanked it. “Ouch! I surrender!”

Shiro suggested he and Pidge go to Hunk’s bakery and pick up something for dinner for the four of them, and Lance awed at the idea. He looked about ready to jump out after them when they left the store, but Keith held him back. “I have to talk to you about something,” Keith said, to which Lance sulked at and returned his bum to the stool opposite Keith.

“Is it important enough to delay dinner?” he asked. “And was I just invited to your house again? This is two days in a row—if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re asking me out on a date.”

“That was Shiro’s suggestion, not mine,” Keith ground out through clenched teeth, “and completely besides the point.”

“I really like Shiro. He seems like he’s really put-together,” Lance confessed, resting his head on his hands. For some strange reason, the comment brought to mind the image of Shiro’s scars. Keith perhaps never would have seen them had he not given in to his primal instincts. It seemed like a topic he could avoid for a while longer, but the fact that Shiro’s appearance changed so dramatically was a bit jarring.

Keith shook the idea out of his head and scowled at Lance. “I realized we have not talked about the marking ritual for some time,” he said, aware of the way Lance fidgeted the instant the words became clear. He looked away sparingly before frowning at Keith.

“What brings this up?”

“It was just on my mind,” he said, though that wasn’t entirely it. He tapped his nails on the counter and turned away slightly. “There’s a chance that I might be gone in a few weeks, and I think it would be smart to do the ritual soon—”

“Whoa, wait—back up for a minute,” Lance interrupted, voice turning to panic-mode. “ _Gone?_ What do you mean by _gone_? The fact that you mention it makes me think you aren’t coming back like all the other times.”

“It’s hard to say,” he confessed. “But emphasis on ‘ _might’_. There’s a _small_ chance—”

“You can’t just—just _leave_ , Keith,” Lance erupted. “You’re my teacher—I am here because of _you_ and I’m hardly close to finishing my training! How long are you going to be gone?”

Keith’s stare turned hard, and the sharp nature of his glare quieted Lance down. After a moment, he spoke his mind: “My teacher left on occasion too—this isn’t out of the ordinary, Lance. But the chance of me leaving is still up in the air. It would be smart for you to get your markings, though, in the case that I do leave. Then if you planned to continue your education with a different teacher you wouldn’t have any problem in the city. I could recommend a few sorcerers who don’t already have apprentices that you could stay with and—oh, please Lance, don’t look at me like that. Don’t act like my leaving isn’t the greatest thing to happen to you.”

Throughout the progression of Keith’s speech, Lance’s lip started to quiver, and he looked thoroughly distressed. It wasn’t the first time Keith had seen Lance like this—for the first few weeks, after the thrill of being an apprentice wore off, homesickness struck like a brittle winter storm. And even then Keith wasn’t great at dealing with a depressed Lance.

“You tell me this after I’ve already made a home for myself here?” he said in a voice that was supposed to be bitter, but just turned into a partial-sob. “You’re my teacher—you can’t just—I don’t _want_ a different teacher! For gods sake, Keith, how could you even suggest that?”

Keith could hardly look Lance in the eye now. “It is either that or… I don’t know—That or you simply just… come with me?” He regretted saying it as soon as it came out. He pressed a hand to his face as Lance’s countenance changed, and he seemed to actually consider the idea. “But even if you did come with me, we would still need to perform the ritual here. I won’t have the proper materials elsewhere, and it works best at a well—”

“Where are we going?” he asked, sniffing a little and rubbing his hand over his eyes to ensure that they weren’t damp.

Keith sighed, rolling his eyes towards the front window. “I would rather not say for now because it is not certain, but it is certainly warmer than here, and far more remote.” Then, he turned back to Lance, who managed to look somewhat composed now that the threat of losing his teacher was gone. “Would you want to do the marking ritual soon?”

Lance bit into his lip and considered the idea for a moment before giving Keith a calculated nod of his head. “It seems I don’t really have a choice either way, so yes, I will do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm usually light with the sexy scenes because I'd hate to slap you all in the face with those sections. Also, slightly painful writing them, being ace and all XD Let me know how I did...??? lmao


	5. { the hexed }

The ritual was planned to start the very next day. That said, after Lance retired to the upstairs of the shop, Keith closed up the store and hunted down every last book he recalled Allura mentioning. One thing that Keith prided himself on was his memory, and that memory stretched across the great expanse of the store library. 

He left the shop with a never-ending satchel full of books. Surprisingly, even with the weight-inhibitor hex on the satchel, he could still feel the heaviness of it all.

Shiro and Pidge were at the baker’s, right where they said they’d be. But Keith had taken so long and so he found them with half-eaten cheesy croissants. “Sorry we started eating before you,” Pidge said.

“That’s fine, I won’t have much time to eat today anyways,” Keith reassured her. “I need to get back to the house.”

They were folding up their bags as Shiro rose with his brows pressed in. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I plan on performing the marking ritual, which means I have to study Allura’s books after stopping by the well to replenish,” Keith explained, adjusting the strap where it fell over his shoulder. “It would be best for me to study out there anyways. Shall we?”

“What ritual?” Pidge asked before Shiro could argue against Keith spending the night outdoors, when the first frost was approaching. It was a small sacrifice for Keith to make when Lance would be spending a week out there.

On the way to the house, Keith explained the ritual, displaying his own marks for her to see. She asked constant questions, and by the time they reached the porch, she offered to help him study up. 

“You don’t even know what I am looking for in these books,” Keith argued, narrowing his eyes. “Or what is irrelevant in Lance’s case. Each ritual is specialized—I don’t need help with this.”

“Then could I read some of the books? I _would_ like to observe,” she said, raising her hands as if itching to grab his satchel and run with it. He gripped the strap tighter and pulled it out of her reach. 

Shiro’s hand fell on her shoulder and pulled her a step back. “We should let him work on his own for now,” he suggested to Pidge, who pouted and watched longingly after Keith as he made a getaway to his bedroom. 

He grabbed a few blankets and one of the sitting pillows from the living room before starting the trek out to the well. It was getting dark, now that the days were shortening, and the dull atmosphere of the forest soon turned gloomy as he climbed the stone steps. He mounted the top of the hill, and stood on the stone platform of the well. The energy under his feet pulsed with each step he took towards the center. 

He set everything down, and spread out a blanket beneath the sitting pillow. The heat radiating from his skin felt condensed, like he wore several wool sweaters instead of just one on top of a turtle neck.

After the salt and powder were spread out around the well’s rim, Keith flattened his hands on the rock and allowed the lamps to burst with fire, illuminating every crevice and every marking on the source well.

Moments after the heat washed out of Keith and he felt all at once relaxed, he allowed himself a moment to recuperate with the spare blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He waited for his hands to warm up by secluding himself in his makeshift tent made of heavy fabric, and let the firelight play shadows between the knots of the knitted blanket. He clasped a book between his fingers, and let each breath on them ward away the chill.

Eventually, the fire returned beneath his flesh and he could emerge from the blanket-tent and read in the firelight of the posts surrounding the well. After jotting down a page of notes, he heard footsteps on the stone steps and looked up to find Pidge, accompanied by Shiro. 

“What are you doing out here?” he demanded, narrowing his eyes at them as they crossed the threshold of the well stone. They were carrying blankets, and sported heavy coats.

“We brought you food, and we’d like to sit with you for a bit,” Pidge explained, taking a seat on Keith’s left side. She swaddled herself in a blanket and when she huffed out, a plume of breath crystalized in the air.

Shiro took a seat on Keith’s right side, and sat a tray of Hunk’s delicacies in front of him, along with a steaming cup of tomato soup. “We won’t disturb you,” Shiro promised, but Keith seriously doubted that.

He munched on their food as he laid out the book on the sitting cushion in front of him, and took notes on his lap. Pidge edged closer to read along with him, and discovered that the heat inside Keith seemed to radiate outwards. She pressed her head to his knee and stayed there with one of the books Keith gave her from his bag.

Follow Pidge’s example, Shiro sat close to Keith, and asked to share the blanket with him, though he had his own. Eventually Shiro laid down like a cat partially behind Keith, wrapped in his blanket and huddled close to Pidge. 

Keith removed a vial from his pocket and took a small sip from it. It was the only thing that kept him awake long past Pidge and Shiro, who, after some time of denying how cold it was, took their blankets and shuffled into the wall of darkness beyond the fires. Before Shiro left, he knelt next to Keith and said, “Don’t stay out all night.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You might not _feel_ cold, but it still isn’t healthy,” Shiro warned, glancing over at where Pidge waited yawning by the stairs. “We had a few close calls in the winter—enough to know that you should really be inside right now.”

Keith could have argued back, but instead gave a dull sigh and mumbled that he’d be in before long. Shiro patted him on the shoulder and stood, wrapping one of the blankets around his shoulders on his way over to Pidge.

Keith watched the darkness consume them before returning to the last page he stopped on. It was eerily quiet then, and it seemed the soft crackle of the fires were the only thing accompanying him in that wall of darkness past the well. Before long, he began to miss the soft sounds of Pidge and Shiro’s breath, and the feel of them close, leeching off of his infinite heat.

The dark silence began to aggravate Keith, so after zoning out for what ended up being an entire hour, he packed up his things into his satchel and gathered the blankets around his neck and over his shoulders.

After spending so much time by the well, Keith felt as if he overate at dinner, but the sensation went beyond his stomach. His head felt full, but not to the breaking point, and not in the ill sense. It was relatively comforting and warm, bundling him up following him even after the lights from the fires extinguished behind him. 

His eyes adjusted easily enough, and soon he was navigating between pine trees, following the broken stone path back to the house.

The sounds of the forest came back to him after some time, and it seemed abrupt, as if he just stepped out of a soundproof barrier. He paused for a moment to study the shadows, in the direction of where an owl shrieked farther away. Keith ignored the sound of Shiro’s voice in the back of his mind, commenting on how Keith was prone to falling gullible to superstitions. 

He continued walking, only to cringe again at the sound of the owl, coming closer. He hurried his steps, as the sound of his teacher’s voice rang in his ears. They once had a lesson on superstitions, and ones that were deceptive, gags to terrify naive sorcerers. There were three Allura followed closely—a lost eyelash is a won wish, never kill a sparrow, and three screams of an owl is certain misfortune.

The owl seemed to stop at two, and after walking for another minute, Keith released a heavy breath. He’d had the misfortune of encountering three owl hoots before, and with Allura of all people, and _in broad daylight_. That day a patient of theirs passed away in a freak accident involving an open two-story window.

Keith didn’t take any chances where Allura’s warnings were concerned. She also wholeheartedly believed that suspicions such as the owl could not be avoided.

So when Keith finally emerged into the backyard of his house, he didn’t expect the third screech to erupt from over the raven shed. It stilled the blood in his veins, and the shock of it sent his steps scattering. He staggered away from the owl just as his vision diffused into a sudden, blinding strike of light.

It was almost like that of lighting, though it was never accompanied by thunder, or anything of the sort. It illuminated everything as if it were daytime, the sky washed out in white, every edge of the shed lit. 

And the figure that stepped around the corner elicited a scream from Keith.

He dropped the blankets, the cushion, and ran for the forest. All instinctual spells, curses, jinxes, vanished from him. He wasn’t trained to fight with magick, as some people thought he was. It was an accident.

Every inch of the forest was blown white in the blinding light that nearly drove him straight into the needles of a pine tree. He ducked behind them and felt entirely exposed. There was no place to hide when there were no shadows. There was no way to see the figure coming closer when his silhouette was nowhere in sight.

Keith staggered and looked back, and screamed when the figure reached for him, nearly reaching him, centimeters away. The intense memory of Shiro’s hand coming out to grab him sent Keith’s arms up, freezing the figure completely and entirely. But this wasn’t real. This wasn’t a person Keith could control with magick.

The intruder’s flesh was blackish, spotted with purple—hardly human in the way it clumped into fur across his arms. Those ears weren’t natural—they weren’t even elvish, or small like a human’s. His grin jarred Keith, and the way his teeth sharpened like an animal’s against his slim lips that parted to speak.

“ _Keith Kogane_ …” 

His distant, detached voice rattled in Keith’s skull. 

The instant his hand grabbed for Keith’s sweater, his entire figure evaporated. They weren’t real to each other—they couldn’t touch one another, manipulate one another, harm one another as Keith feared. 

_This isn’t real_ , Keith thought, panting and cutting through the fog that emerged where the man disappeared. He broke through the trees and ran for the house. Everything was light. Everything was bright. He willed it all to fade to night again.

The instant he snapped his fingers to let it be so, Keith was pitched into darkness, and tripped going onto the porch. He grabbed for the railing, just in time to see the door open, and Shiro stumble out, nearly collapsing straight over Keith.

“Keith! Are you—What’s going on? I heard someone—”

Keith gasped in relief, nearly falling straight onto the floorboards as he realized he was back. 

He nearly believed he was back, until he stood and glanced back at the blankets he dropped and found a figure standing over them, watching them.

“Get inside! Get inside!” Keith shrieked, shoving against Shiro and scrambling in through the door. He shut the screen, and the heavy wooden door, locking it and throwing his arms up. The immense power built up inside of him flared up, and for a moment it felt as though they were in a bubble of water. The heavy weight of it sent Shiro falling against the counter, and Pidge tipping onto the ground. 

As the protective field went up, Keith stared at the inside of his house, eyes wide with horror at the sight of figures—those black and purple figures—rising up with it. They were everywhere, in every part of the house staring at him with yellowish eyes and abnormal ears. They all opened their sharp, scattered teeth wide in pained screams as black ash consumed them from the floor up. Their remains floated through the ceiling, and out to the sky, but it didn’t stop Keith from visualizing each of them, and where their outlines ones stood in every inch of the house.

Keith was shaking by the time the field was finally up. He held his hands out, prepared to ward off any that thought they could breech the field. His teeth were clattering, and he was hardly cold. There was still so much power built up inside, pressing against his ribcage.

None of them spoke, but Pidge looked scared out of her wits, waiting for Keith to explain what happened. Shiro was crouched slightly, watching Keith and mirroring his terrified expression. After an entire minute of silence, and statue-like positions, Keith finally brought his hands together and clasped them around his satchel strap.

He couldn’t speak.

Eventually, Shiro whispered, “What did you see?” 

Keith took a sharp intake of breath, surprised by Shiro’s voice. He looked briskly to Shiro before looking around the house again. The remaining outlines had vanished. “Th-There were three owl screeches,” Keith said, gripping at his chest where his heart was pounding. “A-And this m-man was waiting for me at the shed. He’s still out there. He’s still out there—Close the shades. We need to—”

“Who was it? Was he real or not?” Shiro demanded, coming to steady Keith. He watched Shiro’s hands come within inches, centimeters, and somehow Keith managed to resist the urge to hold him back. 

“I-I don’t know—I don’t know. I thought he wasn’t but—but he’s still there,” he stammered. “Close the shades. Close the shades.”

“Pidge,” Shiro ordered, and instantly she was on her feet, running to the windows and swinging the curtains closed one by one. Shiro left to help, and Keith hugged himself around the middle as he processed the humanoid creatures, trying to file them under a category in all those books he read. He’d never come across anything that described their appearances.

During the time Keith stood frozen in the living room, he successfully backtracked to everything that occurred. He could feel how normal the house felt now—he hardly even noticed the presence of the apparitions in his house until they showed themselves, and when he banished them. How long had they been there? How long where they here? 

He watched Pidge and Shiro, refusing to look at the windows in fear of seeing those yellow eyes staring back at him. He stared at Shiro harder, longer, until he turned and saw the white in Shiro’s hair, and the scars all across his body. 

“You brought them here,” Keith whispered, drawing their attention to him. He tightened his hold on his sweater. “They came with you two.”

“What are you talking about?” Pidge asked. “Who did we bring?”

“They aren’t real, Keith,” Shiro insisted.

“They _are_ ,” Keith snapped. “Not everything is black and white, Shiro! They aren’t quite _demons_ —I have seen demons before, but they function in a—a different plane of existence that is parallel to our own. They don’t have physical form,” he insisted, hands shaking as he raised them up to his hair. “They are more phantom-like than demons are—almost like _ghosts_ , or _wraiths—_ ”

“Are those all real?” Pidge asked, looking to Shiro, who looked taken aback by the entire situation. “What did you do to the house earlier?”

“Th-They were _everywhere_ inside the house,” Keith explained, throwing his arms down and gesturing wildly around the house, finally stepping away from the spot he was frozen in. “I threw up a barrier to keep the one out, not realizing that there were dozens in here.”

“ _Dozens?_ ” Pidge repeated. “How is that possible?”

“They must… be duplicating, or continuously created by a living source,” Keith decided. “I don’t know for certain—it might be a hex of some sort. I can’t believe I didn’t notice earlier—I never even _felt_ them, not really anyway. It should have been the equivalent of wading through a pool of molasses.” 

“What did they look like?” Shiro asked, and Pidge’s head instantly spun in his direction. Keith noted both of their expressions, and how the horror of Shiro’s statement affected Pidge.

“How did you get your scars?” Keith countered, instantly drawing Pidge’s attention back to him. “And your white hair.”

“Keith—” Pidge started, but he raised his hand up to silence her. He raised his other hand to point accusingly at Shiro.

“You’re hexed, are you not?” he demanded, and glowered at the way Shiro refused to admit it. “ _Are you not?_ ”

Shiro swallowed hard before saying, “I wasn’t certain.”

All at once Keith threw down his hands and felt like screaming. He boiled underneath the surface, glaring at Shiro and then at Pidge, who had her lips pinched together to say silent. 

Keith was thankful he already replenished at the well. It was his best bet of being thoroughly purified after having _sex_ with a _hexed partner_. 

“You should have _told me sooner_ ,” Keith hissed.

“I didn’t think I would have to!” Shiro countered as Keith stormed away and into the kitchen. “I figured if it was a problem you would notice it right away.”

It was incredibly dark in the house, after having pitched it into night with the protection barrier. The fireplace was still roaring with heat, and was enough for Keith to fish out the proper supplies. He tossed his satchel onto the counter and snapped his fingers at Pidge. “Find _Possession Pentagrams_ , it’s in my bag.”

“On it,” Pidge said, rushing forward and dumping out the contents of the bag. She didn’t expect there to be twenty-odd books inside.

Keith strapped on a pair of gloves before stepping over and shooing Shiro aside. He took a towel and cleared off the surface of the floorboards before Pidge came up with the book Keith needed. He rattled his brain for the next task. “It should be on page… three hundred and ninety four.”

Pidge brought up a diagram for Keith, and in the light of the fireplace he began the process of mixing water with heavy purple powder into a clumped mass of watery substance. He took a brush from his pile of supplies and began painting the outline of a perfect circle with a diameter the length of Shiro’s body. 

Over the pentagram, Keith sprinkled dust that clung to the purple paste. The instant he finished, he stepped outside the circle and brought his hands together in a loud, resounding clap. It burst with the flames that took hold of the pentagram on the floorboards.

Pidge scrambled back, the light reflecting on her specs as she stared in shock at Keith and Shiro. Keith’s hair spun with the swish of air that erupted from the flames, fluttering his sweater along with the blanket around Shiro’s shoulders. 

“Lay down across the segment here,” Keith ordered, pointing to the start of the line. Shiro shed the blanket and did as he asked, his feet nearly touching Keith’s—separated only by the burn mark in the floorboards. Keith’s finger, which was still stationed at the point where Shiro’s feet intersected the circle, suddenly darted up the length of Shiro’s body, and in an instant the sound of sparks touched their ears.

The effect was so profound that it stunned Pidge into silence. Shiro’s limbs tightened up, and the sparking sound erupted to a constant stream, his back arched and a scream split his jaws apart. Keith’s fingers clawed, and he ripped them up into the air. Shiro’s chest seemed to follow the motion, and the ashes that consumed the creatures earlier fizzled through his shirt, all across Shiro’s chest and spreading across his arms, legs. The fabric started to burn away, giving light to the scars as they manifested into black ash and rose with the protective barrier. 

That white light, that _blinding_ , _torturous_ light flickered across Keith’s vision, and he briefly peered into the plane of existence where these beings stared, unharmed, untouched. Their collective yellow eyes watched him through the walls of the barrier.

Just as the image came, it went in a flash, and the tension that built up inside of him vanished all at once. It was as if the pressure of redeeming Shiro held Keith up by mere threads, and all of the cords snapped at once.

He collapsed between where Shiro lay unconscious, and where Pidge stared in utter astonishment.


	6. { the source }

“We have to get him to the well! Why haven’t you all done it yet?”

“We can’t leave the house!”

“Well why the hell not? Are you going to let me in or not?”

“We can’t let you in either.”

“I’m Keith’s _apprentice_ —you would think I know how to _heal him_.”

The ruckus outside of Keith’s bedroom penetrated his numb, empty brain. Each word felt like it was resonating inside a hollow shell. With a groan he pried open his eyes and blinked at the fabrics looped over the rafters. His room. It was morning—the sunlight always made the fabric glow like some angelic wing. 

He propped himself up on his elbows and squinted at the door. It was partially open, and as he slipped his feet onto the ground and shuffled towards it, he realized that it wasn’t just morning—it was the afternoon.

Keith peered out the door to where he could see Pidge fighting Lance with the screen door between them. After a moment, Lance looked past her shoulder and gasped at the sight of Keith. “You look like shit!”

“Touché,” Keith muttered, glancing towards the living room where he heard someone get up. It was Shiro. He looked far better than Keith remembered—which brought his gaze to the pentagram lines burned into his floorboards.

“What the hell did you do last night without me?” Lance complained. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you end up performing ceremonies on your friends.”

Keith squinted at the mark again before raising a hand to his head. The phantom creatures. The protective barrier. He raised his hand up to Lance and felt for the field he threw up around the house. It was still there—a bit fainter that before, but he figured that if any of the phantoms could follow Lance, they would have burned away trying to cross the threshold. 

“You can let him in,” Keith murmured, dropping his arm and moving to the kitchen. “I need oolong.”

“I can make it for you,” Shiro suggested, but Keith waved him off.

“No, I have to,” he argued, and set about heating the water between his two palms. As the teapot steeped, Keith pressed his hands to the lid and kept them there for the remainder of the process.

Lance wandered over to the circle on the floor and studied it before coming to stand beside Keith. “Are we doing the ritual today?” he asked, and Keith sighed. 

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Give me a moment to process this.”

He stared at the pentagram until the tea was done, and then proceeded to pour it into a mug with a dash of milk. The entire time he zoned out, Lance found a spot to sit on the counter, and Pidge had returned to the living room. Shiro stood expectantly at the counter, watching Keith.

“I don’t know if I fixed the problem or not,” Keith confessed, voice detached. “I have never seen anything like that. It would take days to go through the entire library just to find the name for them—and it might not even be in Allura’s books.” He looked up to Shiro then, who looked almost as if he pitied Keith. “How did this happen?”

“Keith…” Shiro started, in that voice that told him Shiro wasn’t planning on sharing the story anytime soon. Keith just _saved_ the man and yet he didn’t think Keith was worthy enough for an explanation? 

“You can’t hold back on me now,” Keith hissed at him. “Not after—do you even realize what you could have done? A hexed sorcerer is a death sentence. You nearly managed to possess me as well! I can’t believe I didn’t notice it earlier! Gods!” He threw his hands up and before pressing them both to his face with a groan. “If it went on long enough, they would have _consumed_ me. Most hexes thrive on a power source, and if you aren’t connected to the source they eat away at your life-force instead. It takes years, maybe, but _still_ , Shiro!”

“I told you, I wasn’t certain,” he said steadily, and his calmness only infuriated Keith further. “You cannot expect me to understand every goddamn thing about sorcery!”

“A hex is pretty damn obvious,” Keith hissed. “Curses are less powerful and don’t require a ritual—it means that you _had to have participated in a ritual_.”

Shiro was silent, his eyes stern, warning to stay away from the topic, but Keith was boiling with anger. Of _all the people_ Shiro could have infected with possessive demon-like creatures. It was almost as if he never even witnessed the amount of danger Keith could possibly be to the town, or even humanity for that matter. 

He saw Pidge get up from the living room and shuffle over with a notebook in her hands. It was moleskin and tattered around the edges, and attached to the bookmark was a neon green feather—evidence of her stay in Arus. “It happened after we found the drake egg,” she said, looking cautiously at Shiro before laying the journal down for Keith. 

“Whoa, wait a minute—back up,” Lance said. “Shiro’s hexed and now there’s a dragon egg involved?”

“Yeah, it’s in the fire,” she said casually, nodding towards the hearth. Lance’s eyes went wide, and he looked startled as he stared at Keith on his way around the island counter, and into the living room. Eventually he plopped down in front of the fire and oohed and ahed at the embers shimmering over the egg.

Pidge had her hands pressed to a passage as she explained, “We made a deal with the villagers. They were our strongest lead—we had to follow up. And to do so, they required that one of us assist in a ceremony that the villagers perform with certain guests that visit them. Shiro offered to do it—they let me observe from afar, so I recorded everything I saw. It might help figure out what those creatures are. They kept using a term to describe them—I wrote it down somewhere…” She hummed thoughtfully, flipping through the pages in search of it. “Galra?”

“Galra? I have never heard of them before,” Keith confessed, frowning. “If the ceremony involved creatures like the galra, it must be a sacrifice of sorts, to ward them off by giving them a host. How many people would you say visit this village?”

“Not many,” Pidge confessed. “Yearly? No more than a dozen, maybe even less.”

“Even so,” Keith said, “If they perform this ceremony on every other visitor, there could be hexed travelers infecting places and people all across the globe. They get rid of galra at the expense of other people.”

“The ceremony took place at night,” Pidge continued, turning back to the first page. “It took the entire night—and they never touched Shiro, but somehow each villager left a scar on Shiro. If you count the scars, it’s the same number of people in the village.”

“Did you know that scars would be a byproduct of the ritual?” Keith asked, looking at the both of them.

“No. They didn’t show until a few days later,” Shiro answered, and gingerly ran his finger over the scar across his cheeks.

“It was… startling, to say the least,” Pidge confessed, frowning a little. “At first it didn’t seem like that big of a deal—we just thought we were helping out the villagers. In the morning, after the ceremony ended and Shiro woke up, the strangest thing happened. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary until he woke up and he gasped like coming out of water, and it sounded like… an animal’s shriek? And next thing you know his hair is white.

“The deal was that they showed us how to get the egg first, and if we managed to return, with or without it, Shiro would help them,” Pidge explained. “We left straight afterwards, but Shiro was really burnt out. We ended up stopping halfway through the day because he got sick, and threw up something that looked like black tar.”

“That tends to happen when a person is possessed,” Keith said sourly. “There are different variations of possession—this is a more complicated realm.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because Shiro is merely a host,” he explained. “Which means that the galra inflicting him can’t affect him and how he acts, thinks, or says. A standard possession will let the parasite control the host. The galra are simply… hitching a ride to gods know where.”

“What do they look like?” Shiro asked, sounding hollow.

Pidge looked to him and back again to Keith. “He’s had dreams of things that are almost human. They aren’t quite nightmares, though.”

“Are they purple, with fur and large ears?” he asked Shiro. “Yellow eyes, shark-like teeth?”

He swallowed harshly and nodded his head. “And they don’t tell you to do anything? Follow orders? Think a certain way?” Keith pressed, and at this Shiro shook his head. “Interesting.”

“What do you mean _interesting?_ ” Pidge demanded. “So you’ve seen the things he dreams about? The galra creatures?”

Keith’s head burned just at the thought of them. He kneaded his palms against his temples and said, “I have. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the word before—I doubt they are in any of my books.”

“Then how do we get rid of them if the exorcism didn’t work?” Pidge asked, reaching for Shiro’s arm to show that all of the scars were still there. Keith glared at Shiro, thinking, _If only he told me sooner. This is such terrible timing_. 

“We will have to deal with it later. I need to get to the well.” He grabbed his satchel and called out to Lance, who popped up from the living room floor. “Come here,” he ordered, gesturing to his room. 

_A few minutes definitely is not enough time to prepare everything_ , Keith mused to himself. But either way, they had to start the ritual soon. Morning was the best time to begin, but given the fact that he would both be replenishing himself and Lance before the ritual, they likely wouldn’t start for another hour or so. So, he made quick work rifling through his things to find a proper robe. 

“Strip and put this on—trust me, it’s warm enough. You won’t even feel the cold,” Keith said, tossing it to a startled Lance. 

“This is the first time I’m in your bedroom and you’re already telling me to strip?” Lance jested as he turned around and pulled off his shirt. “Are we on that level yet?”

“Good gods, Lance.”

“Sorry, it’s not like I am about to go unconscious for an entire week. I have to fit in all my jokes now, you know,” he said bitterly. Keith rolled his eyes, snatching a black cloak from the closet before he maneuvered out the door without looking back at Lance, though he could already tell the kid kept his underwear on. 

“ _All of it_ , Lance.”

“But my dignity!”

Keith groaned out in the hallway, and muttered, “ _Whatever_ ,” back to him. 

In the kitchen, Keith took out and swapped several bottles of liquid along with a batch of grayish powder from underneath the cupboards. He asked Pidge to measure half of the ingredients, and let him toss them into a collective bowl. “Allura was more of a potions girl—hence the reason why she first owned the apothecary. I am more interested in the herbology behind it,” he explained to her as he began stirring the liquids together. The denser, milkier substances settled on the bottom as he let it sit for a moment before taking a handful of powder and dropping it in.

A plume of heavy white smoke billowed up and diminished the size of their batch by half once it evaporated into the air. He asked for the blue oil bottle before shouting, “ _Lance_!”

“Coming!” 

“Get the knife from over there,” Keith asked of Pidge. She produced the handle-side to him, and once Lance was in the kitchen with them, he reached for his hand and held it over the bowl. “Just a drop,” he told Lance.

“Okay.”

“You aren’t going to cry, are you?”

“I’m tougher than that,” Lance insisted, scowling at Keith just as he pressed the tip of the blade against Lance’s finger. He winced and frowned as Keith squeezed his flesh, condensing the drop of blood until the weight of it carried it into the concoction. 

The blood instantly spread away from the epicenter, breaking off into branch-like motions across the liquid powder. Pidge _ooh_ ed over it, until Keith pressed her shoulders back to keep from contaminating it. 

He fetched a funnel from the drawer and a large, clear mason jar. He poured it all in and screwed the top shut. “I need the black and white paint from my room. Shiro?”

“I can get it,” he said, departing from the room.

Keith squished the mason jar into his satchel before heading to the cabinet in the living room and taking out a ladle. 

“We have to move quick—it would be best if you and Shiro come with. I’m under the impression that galra can’t enter the source well vicinity,” Keith explained, slipping off his satchel and draping it over Pidge’s shoulders. “If I happen to slip again, I would not want to damage anything in there.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding her head resolutely just as Shiro returned with the paint. Pidge took the small cans and brush and placed them in the satchel. She peered inside and stared in fascination at the interior. “I wasn’t expecting it to look like this,” she confessed, about to show Lance when Keith grabbed him by the arms and pushed him behind. 

“Stay with me at all costs, all right?” he ordered Lance. 

“Can they hurt us?” Lance asked, eyes alert and flickering between Keith’s.

“We don’t know yet—but as far as I’m concerned, fear the unknown,” he said, and raised his eyebrows as if to ask whether or not Lance understood. The kid nodded his head, and set his jaw. Keith looked to Pidge, and then to Shiro, who was gathering a few blankets from the mound in the living room. “Ready? Lance and I will have to move fast—you two can take your time.”

“Are you certain?” Pidge asked, frowning.

“You’ve spent this much time with the hex, I am certain you will be all right,” Keith reassured her, carding his hand through her hair before heading for the door. Lance followed close behind, and as soon as the door was open, Keith grabbed Lance by the arm and pulled him out and off the porch. Mid-jump, Keith swept his cloak up and around the both of them. 

As the wind picked up the corners of the cloth, it enveloped them, rising up and then splitting away like a branch of lightning striking out. And then, there was no sign of them ever having leapt from the porch.

  


  


Out of the shadows in the pine needles, a shock of black darted out and expanded, spilling Keith and Lance out with it. The fabric curled around Keith as he rolled across the stone, coughing, and feeling as though his limbs weighed a ton. Lance groaned, pushing himself up by the elbow and rising into a seated position. “That was—” Keith started.

“ _Incredible_!” Lance exclaimed. “Why won’t you ever teach me how to teleport?”

“That wasn’t teleporting,” Keith said, grimacing. “Nor were the ravens considered teleporting. It’s a method of transportation, just like any horse or ass.”

“Can I have that cloak after I get my marks?” 

“No.”

Keith heaved himself over to the edge of the well where he produced the ingredients from his pocket—the ones he always kept with him for this reason: the salt, and the powder. He spread along the edges of the well’s rim before motioning for Lance to step back. “Go to the steps—it’s still too close for the galra,” he said, and Lance followed his orders, and sat on the edge of the well stone with his arms around his knees, quivering slightly, muttering about how Keith said  
_Oh, yes, of course you won’t feel the cold. You won’t even be able to tell_.”

After Keith replenished, and the lights of the well were all illuminated, he brought Lance over and sat alongside him. “Remember to stay relaxed—I know it feels like you’ll lose control that way, but once you break the barrier it will be fine. I will hold you back if it goes wrong,” he reassured Lance, who nodded decisively, and took up the salt from Keith’s hand.

“I can do this,” he said, and proceeded to sprinkle the salt around, and the powder. Keith let the fire vanish, and waited patiently as Lance pressed his hands to the rock and attempted to light the flames himself.

It took a while, but after several sparks the fires went up. Lance’s eyes were still closed, focusing now on the powder. Keith kept his hands bundled tight in the fabric of his own sweater, reassuring himself that it was fine to take time with the small spells. He didn’t want Lance to think he was doing something wrong—in fact, Keith wasn’t entirely sure Lance _was_ doing anything wrong. Magick came different to other people, especially when it came to the ability to control it.

A small sliver of smoke rose nearest Lance, and soon, a spark. It bolted around the circle all at once, setting it ablaze. As soon as it did, Lance’s shoulders relaxed, and he took a deep breath, and exhaled. 

Keith studied him closely, watching as his expression loosened, and chest rose and fell beneath the loose material of the robe. After a moment Keith became aware of the steps starting at the base of the hill, and when Pidge and Shiro approached, he raised a finger for them to remain quiet.

Keith tucked his hands between his knees and waited, until at last Lance sat back on his heels, slowly removing his hands and looking to Keith. “Was that good?” he asked.

Keith grinned softly and said, “Yeah, it was fine. You did well.”

He motioned for Shiro and Pidge to come closer, and rose to his feet. He felt stronger now, and it was evident now that he realized his legs had been shaky before. He took the satchel from Pidge and told them they could sit on the outskirts, where a portion of the hill was cut out to make way for the source well circle. As they took their seats, wrapped up in the blankets, Pidge said, “Who makes the source wells?”

“The magick source does,” Keith explained, taking out the paint from his satchel. “Originally they look like swells in the earth—the reason why many are atop large hills. But very few hills are actually wells. They tend to start off as rabbit holes, or snake holes—animals are sometimes drawn to it when it first becomes evident. But the animals learn from one another that it’s dangerous, and therefore stay away once the well is exposed by sorcerers, or magick-based colonies.”

He dipped the brush into the blank paint and began following the farthest circle that was engraved into the well stone. He followed its circumference before marking another circle, smaller, and closer to the center—this one was approximately the length of Lance’s frame. Then, following the notes in his book, Keith began adding the additional line segments, the partial pentagrams. The main five points were all arranged with the dominant point facing north, where Lance’s head would go in position with the spirit. The other four points represented the earthly elements—water, air, fire, and earth.

Keith went in with white and marked the moon phases near the central circle. “Pidge, I need your help with something,” he said, taking off his satchel and flipping it open. 

“What is it?” she asked, approaching just as Keith pulled out the binding of a heavy book. He gestured for her to take it, and as he pulled the satchel away from her, the book expanded—it wasn’t even a book anymore. It was heavy, wooden, and continued in the form of a plank.

“Holy shit, when did you put that in there?” she exclaimed as the Keith caught the opposite side and laughed.

“Obviously before I went to study,” he said, and continued to lay it over the opening of the well. It fit almost perfectly. “There used to be a cap for the well, but it broke a while back.”

“I think that was my fault,” Lance confessed, laughing a little as Keith stood up and glared at him.

“Really? I thought it was an animal or something.”

“No, I’m pretty certain it was me.”

“You know that cap was there long before _Allura_ found it?” Keith chastised, and Lance laughed nervously and tried to change the subject. It didn’t stop Keith from glaring at him as he ordered Lance to lay on the plank like he was about to serve up his organs for dinner.

After positioned correctly, Keith rolled up the sleeves on the robe and took out the white paint, and the mason jar. He laid down a layer of the concoction across Lance’s arms and legs, and in a long stripe up from Lance’s naval and to his neck. He swiped the brush underneath Lance’s chin, and applied the concoction across his entire face. “What if I’m allergic to something in here?” he asked.

“Are you allergic to peanuts?” Keith asked, and Lance’s eyes went wide.

“ _Yes_ , you _know_ that!”

“Good thing there aren’t any peanuts in here.”

“You asshole!” Lance exclaimed, laughing.

Keith chuckled to himself as he took up Lance’s arm and began coating it with white paint. He lathered it on thoroughly, so no patch of skin was left open. “I’ll be reapplying this while you’re unconscious,” he explained to Lance. “It’s more of a custom than a necessity, but it does keep the potion on well.”

“Why is it a custom?” 

“Because the marks are normally white, and using white paint prevents us from seeing the marks until they are fully developed,” Keith said. “Of course, there are other marks we won’t see, because of the robe. I will only be interpreting the ones on your arms.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to see your _ass_ , dingus.”

“You have marks on your ass?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Can I see them?”

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith hissed, and the kid erupted into giggles before promising he was done with the inappropriate comments. Keith glared at him for a moment before putting a cap on the white paint and stepping away.

Keith set his bag and supplies over where Shiro and Pidge sat. Pidge looked thoroughly exhilarated by the entire affair, and Shiro more or less looked interested. 

Keith returned with the ladle and, through the small crack between the opening and the board Lance laid on, he pulled up a small scoop of well water. “Sit up,” he said, and Lance did as directed. “Take a small sip—not too much.”

Lance held the ladle to his lips and tipped it slightly, so the water touched his lips. He took little less than a half-gulp before handing the ladle back. Keith dumped the rest back into the well and tossed the ladle to Shiro and Pidge. Shiro ended up catching it.

He stepped around the lines on the ground and, after a moment of Lance sitting and Keith raising his hands up parallel to the stone, Lance’s eyes began to flicker. “A-Am I sup—supposed to feel—” he started, and all at once collapsed back onto the board unconscious.

Keith navigated his arms in counteracting circles, in line with the ground. Each pumping motion triggered the light beneath the pain to glow, and the exposed skin of Lance’s naval and face to come through in blinding white light. 

He heard someone gasp from the side, and couldn’t be sure who it was until Pidge actually shouted out something and Keith’s focus was momentarily divided between rising Lance up from the ground, and the fact that someone had joined them at the well.

A familiar big fellow, Hunk, stood looking both horrified and surprised by the sight. He had several bags in his hands from the bakery. “I, uh… Lance said I could join you guys.”

“Gods, of course he did,” Keith muttered with a sigh through his nostrils. “You can sit with Pidge and Shiro.”

“Cool, cool,” Hunk said. “I brought food.”

“Perfect,” Pidge announced, rubbing her hands together enthusiastically. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made approximately 6 accidental references and I'm thrilled to use more. I don't know if any of you caught the Harry Potter reference on the last chapter, when Keith tells Pidge to go to "page 394". Also, the fact that Lance is unconscious now...? ANYONE. 
> 
> I didn't even plan it to be a reference it just sort of happened that way.


	7. { the superstitious }

Keith spent the entire week at the well with Lance. With the shop closed, a few patients came to the house requesting refills, and Pidge eagerly took the tasks upon herself and would accompany Keith’s customers back to town to get their medicine from the shop. But, for the most part, he spent his time away from the house. He went back only to put up a fresh protective field for Pidge and Shiro, and even then he could barely stand to walk around out in the open outdoors. He took to traveling via cloak, and, if he needed to get to town, then he used the ravens. 

For the most part, Keith was intent to stay at Lance’s side and reapply the paint whenever needed. He replenished the concoction on Lance’s face a handful of times throughout the week, and eventually, the glow saturated and began to take on a new color, as it had for Keith. The light always turned out red on Keith’s skin, but in Lance’s case, it turned blue.

“Blue could potentially mean his element is air,” he explained once to Shiro. “Which makes sense. He had a strong connection with the weather before coming here.”

“But now he has a strong connection to Mother Earth?”

“Yes, but it could go either way, I suppose. When he gets upset he starts entire storms—it wasn’t just the one occasion in his hometown,” Keith said, rubbing his hand against his chin. Lance. “But his connection with _animals_? Blue isn’t the color for that.”

“What is?”

“Green, orange, or brown, usually,” he said. “Mostly orange.”

“Blue and orange are complimentary colors.”

“So if we find another sorcerer whose color is orange, we can likely assume they’d make a good pair,” Keith said humorously, but it didn’t get a laugh out of Shiro. “Oh come on, you think he is straight?”

“I’m hoping he is.”

“He flirts with me for fun, not because he is interested,” Keith scoffed, shaking his head. “Besides, I suspect Hunk is interested in Lance.”

Shiro quirked an eyebrow at Keith and said, “Really? What makes you say that? Because he visits?”

“Yes, and also, Hunk cooks dinner for Lance most nights,” Keith said. “And because I’m the landlord and have an innate sense for picking up hints, I know for a fact Hunk has stayed the night before. But even though I am his teacher I can’t police who goes in and out of his apartment.”

They were silent for a moment, as if rethinking every interaction they ever had with Lance and Hunk. After a while, Keith said, “I talked to Lance about potentially leaving the town.”

“And?”

“I… accidentally suggested he come with me,” he admitted, and against all will and rationale, managed to go pink a little. He pressed his hands to his cheeks to ward it away. “He became irrationally upset over it and refused to take up a new teacher. I figured it was a fair point to make.”

“Lance… coming with you? To Arus?” Shiro repeated. “You realize it would just be the two of you?”

“I know,” Keith groaned at the thought. He dropped his hands and said, “But now that Pidge mentioned the village, I think… I could try to help them? Lance and I could live there during that time.”

“But we know nothing of the galra, or what they are like,” Shiro said. “I can hardly tell if they are malicious or simply benign half the time.”

“It is quite frustrating,” Keith mused with a sigh. The words came out unintentionally sharp, and it elicited a concerned look from Shiro.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about it,” he said quietly, and Keith huffed in response. “I honestly didn’t realize…”

“Ignorance is no excuse,” Keith said. “A child could unintentionally harm someone with a knife not knowing that it draws blood. They are still accused of harming another person. But… we learn from our mistakes. Be glad I found out sooner rather than later.”

He felt Shiro’s arm come behind him, and his fingers slide around Keith’s lower back. He gingerly kissed Keith on the hair and murmured, “I’m so sorry. I feel like that is all I say nowadays.”

Keith leant against him and placed his head on Shiro’s shoulder. They stood watching Lance, who simply appeared as though he was placed atop a table. There was no floating, bobbing, or anything of the sort. The robe that was tied to his waist and draped over his legs drifted in the breeze, untouched by the frosty rain that came through earlier in the morning. The well had a way of deflecting the weather from its surface—half the time it just increased the intensity of the gales down by Keith’s house.

Shiro rubbed his hands against Keith’s hips, through the fabric of the heavy cloak and knitted sweater. “Pidge seems very intent with the idea that she could have the potential to be a sorcerer,” he murmured against Keith’s hair. He laughed a little, turning to Shiro just a tad.

“Yeah, well, we talked about it a while ago. She’s low on the magick spectrum,” Keith told him. “It’s nice to hope though.”

Shiro hummed in agreement. “She seems to enjoy being your assistant.”

“I like ordering people around,” Keith confessed, smiling a little as Shiro’s hands then stopped rubbing his hipbones. They were quiet for some time before Keith said, “What is it?”

“I’m waiting for my orders.”

Keith snickered, smiling down at where Shiro’s hands were. The first thought to enter his head was, _It’s a bit cold to have sex outside_. But he couldn’t _leave_ Lance, not when the ritual was due to end soon. 

Now wasn’t the time to get distracted by hormones.

He laid his hands over Shiro’s and squeezed them, before pulling them off. “In case you didn’t know, I have to stand watch, otherwise Lance will just drop from the air like a rock.”

Shiro pouted at him, his hands trailing after Keith as he wandered closer to where Lance was. He stepped over the painted lines until finding himself on the edge of the well’s edge. He folded his arms, and remained as still as Lance as he said, “It shouldn’t take much longer. I’ll bring him down to the house to clean up.”

After a brief pause, Shiro agreed to the arrangement and started retreating back down the path. Keith stared after him in frustration as he rubbed his hands against his own hipbones. The ghost of Shiro’s fingers made his skin sizzle like water against a hot skillet. 

As he was thinking intensely about how he and Shiro fit together, the already faint blue light over Lance’s skin flickered out and not a second later his limbs started dropping. Keith shot his arms out under Lance and caught him, tripping onto the wooden plank to accommodate the extra weight. A groan escaped Lance’s lips, but somehow, he was still unconscious.

 _He’s heavier than expected_ , Keith mused, but managed to cradle him against his chest. With a flick of his chin, the edge of his cloak swept up, encompassing them completely and in fast, precise clarity, rocketed away from the well and left nothing but the worn paint on the stone behind.

  


When they collapsed from beneath the folds of the cloak, Lance landed completely on top of Keith and the impact knocked his breath out, and knocked Lance awake. He gasped, floundering as he rolled off of Keith and onto the porch. He awoke as if he was fully awake the second his eyes opened.

“Where am I? What’s going on? Why am I not wearing clothes?!” he exclaimed, tugging at the robe pitifully as he staggered to his feet, hands groping for the wall to steady himself on. He ended up slamming his back against the door and shrieking at the feel of the hand impaling his backside. 

“For gods’ sake, Lance,” Keith croaked, still trying to regain his breath. He got up to his knees, and then one foot at a time. “You wake up and the first thing you do is elbow me in the chest?”

Lance stared at him, looking somewhat like a trapped animal until the realization that a week had gone by came to him. He relaxed a little before frantically looking to his hands. They were still covered with white paint. “Get in the house and we’ll clean you up,” Keith said, at last on his feet.

They entered the house and Keith double-checked the barrier—it was still holding firmly. Keith hadn’t set foot past the threshold for more than a second before he heard several voices gasp from the living room. 

“Lance you look like utter _shit!_ ” Pidge shouted. “And I’m only saying that because you say the same to Keith all the time.”

“You hungry? Hunk made cinnamon rolls,” Shiro said, pointing to where Hunk sat by the hearth and waved. “And we can talk about your marks as we eat.”

“Eating? Talking? Are you asking me out on a date?” Lance said, grinning manically. Keith lashed his fist out and punched him directly in the back. “Ouch! Ouch, careful—just woke up from a coma. But food sounds… really nice right about now.”

“First, you seriously need to clean up,” Keith said, grimacing as the smell that came with a week without bathing. 

The bathroom in Keith’s house consisted of a tub that was heated manually, since the rudimentary plumbing in the town didn’t reach this far. He filled the tub and heated it as Lance went and fetched the clothes he left behind. “It’s probably a good thing you forced me to strip,” Lance said. “This robe is _super_ overdue for a washing.”

“So are you. Now get in,” Keith ordered. “Soap’s over there, shampoo, conditioner, and towels are in the basket.”

Before Keith could leave entirely, Lance caught him by the arm and after a moment of not seeming to know what to do, he finally said, “Thanks. For spending the week out there with me.”

Keith blinked at him, taken aback by Lance’s odd shift of gratitude. “Anytime,’ he said, and instantly added, “Well, not _any_ time. I still have a life, you know. I can’t spend _every_ week out in the wilderness with you.”

With that, he disappeared out the door and heard Lance laughing from the other side. 

It didn’t take long for them to hear Lance start shrieking from the bathroom. Keith winced at the sound of water sloshing—he hoped Lance wasn’t destroying his bathroom in the process of scrambling out to the living room in only a towel that was barely on. He was prancing on his feet looking like an overexcited child, holding his hand out to Keith, the other gripping the towel around his waist.

“What does it mean! What does it mean!” he shouted rapidly, and instantly Pidge and Hunk were on their feet rushing to see the marks. Shiro took a bit more time arriving at the scene.

Keith stared at Lance’s arms in amazement. In most, the hands were the more prominent features for markings, but Lance’s right arm was entirely encompassed with rings—rings that were more or less carved into the dipping and rising motion associated with water. At even intervals, they were interrupted by downward-facing triangles.

His other arm had a similar structure, only the waves were jagged, sharp-edged, with evenly-spaced points. The lines all converged at the back of his hands, splitting into three diverging paths ending in arrows, pointing to his index, middle, and ring finger. For once, the back of the hands seemed to be identical. 

Keith grabbed for his hand and flipped it, revealing plain, unmarked palms. The inner wrists disrupted the rings, one side drawing in each of the lines to a rough, jagged tree branches. The other appeared to be reversed, almost like roots.

“What is it?” Lance said. “You look… not stoic anymore. I don’t feel comfortable reading your expressions when they don’t involve you frowning.”

Keith’s fascination instantly vanished and he glared at Lance. “I’m thinking. I’m just… surprised you don’t have marks on your palms,” he confessed, and then moved his eyes up his arms and over the plain of his chest. The lines from his biceps seemed to dissolve backwards—“Turn around for a second,” he said, already pushing against Lance’s shoulder to move him. 

The lines spread over Lance’s shoulder blades, and converged in a very… straight, and unmoving line. Keith didn’t classify his reaction as disappointed, but simply surprised.

“What about your legs?” Keith asked.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to see the other marks?”

“Well since you don’t have palm marks I guess I’ll have to look elsewhere, won’t I?” Keith said sarcastically, and peered down at Lance’s feet. There, he saw what he was looking for. But the symbols there merely supported his already formulated theory about Lance.

“Suffice to say you really shouldn’t be hanging around here,” Keith said, straightening up with a sigh. “Since there aren’t any oceans nearby.”

“What does that mean?” Lance asked in a whisper.

“It means your element is water. Have you seriously never been to a lake, ocean, anything?” Keith said, raising an eyebrow at Lance as soon as he frowned at Keith, looking almost hurt.

“We didn’t even have a _river_ —my hometown only had underground springs—and, evidently, so does this one,” Lance said. “Is that why it took so long? For me to realize I was a sorcerer?” He looked like he was on the verge of crying thinking about it. It was what Keith had worried about before, but now it didn’t seem… as drastic. It wasn’t their fault Lance was simply raised so far from the very thing that would escalate his abilities. 

“That explains the weather and the plants then,” Keith scoffed, dropping Lance’s hand and stepping away to put a hand to his temple. “Gods, that makes things easier. Water and earth go hand-in-hand. So it isn’t entirely a loss.”

“So the trees here…” Pidge mused, probing her finger against Lance’s wrists. “Is that what they mean? Earth?”

Keith turned back to watch them all study Lance’s arms and feet. “No, I don’t think so,” Keith said. “Usually the element is separated by one side, but his are merged. So it makes me think that the trees represent the nature of his abilities. Mine represents omniscience and knowledge, which means Lance’s—”

“Spirituality,” he finished, staring wide-eyed at Keith. “I read up on symbolism a few months ago, remember?”

“Yes, but trees can also represent the lunar months—depending on the species of tree. It might take some research, but my thinking is that because each side of the tree marks six branches,” Keith said, tracing each branch as they converged, “they represent the twelve months. Which would connect you to the phases of the moon.”

Lance began gradually screaming, his voice rising with intensity as Keith finished his statement. “ _I love it. I love it so much_ ,” he said, and threw himself at Keith, completely forgetting the fact that he was supposed to be holding up a towel.

“Oh gods, Lance,” Pidge said, slapping her hands over her eyes as Hunk turned his back and Shiro awkwardly picked up the towel and handed it to the kid. 

As soon as Lance returned to the bathroom to finish cleaning up, Keith remained frozen with his hands partially raised, still cringing. Shiro shook him by the shoulder and said, “You all right?”

He shuddered and brought his hands to his stomach as he said, “I can’t believe I just hugged Lance’s naked body.”

  


  


Lance spent the majority of the day at Keith’s house, even after Hunk provided the meal. It wasn’t every day Keith had so many visitors, and before long he could hardly participate in conversation—it was too taxing to accommodate everyone in the room. Eventually, though, Hunk offered to escort Lance back to the village—he had to get home as well anyway.

“I don’t want to wear a jacket though,” Lance whined, rubbing his hands up and down his arms fondly, where the marks resided. “It would cover up my lovely tattoos.”

“They aren’t tattoos,” Keith started, but that clearly wasn’t the point of the conversation. Hunk tossed Lance his coat and, after some fussing, Lance agreed to put it on, if only to prevent him from becoming ill. 

“Tomorrow I’ll have to pitch a barrier around the shop,” Keith said as they were out the door. “I’m not certain the galra linger.”

“There is little we are certain of, to be fair,” Pidge reassured him, but it hardly seemed to do his stress level any good. “We’ll find a way, I promise.”

Later, Keith found himself on the windowsill behind the headboard of his bed. It was a small inlet, just enough space for him to sit and stare out the window. From there, he would send ripples through the barrier, and they would resonate back with the form of fingerprints against the edges, black and purple and turning to ash when they managed to push through the first layer. He studied the fingers of the galra, and how they were clawed, and unimaginably long in comparison to the size of their palms. 

It grew dark quickly, and eventually he laid out on the window sill with a pillow beneath his head, watching a few lights flicker up from beyond the pine trees, past the garden and the long walk to town. As he was studying the shadows across the garden plots, a knock sounded on his door. 

“Come in,” he said, and turned slightly. The door opened and he could just barely see the top of Shiro’s head from over the headboard. “I’m by the window.”

Shiro followed his voice and came to lean against the headboard, his arms folded over it as Keith readjusted himself to look up at where the white flicker of hair sprouted from his part. “Why are you in the windowsill?” he asked.

“I was nature-watching,” he confessed, glancing back out the window. His reflection came back, as long as his eyes were focused narrowly. His eyes looked tired. He felt exhausted. “I think I might go to sleep soon.”

Shiro hummed, resting his chin against his arms as he peered down at Keith. “Are you all right though?”

“Fine. Why?” 

“I’m worried that this is… too much pressure for you. And I know my being here isn’t helping at all—” he started, but Keith waved his hand to silence him.

“It’s fine, really. Either way I am _going_ to help you. I don’t care how long it takes—we’ll get rid of the galra,” he insisted, reaching a hand up to brush over the edge of Shiro’s stubble, and the makings of a beard across his jawline. Shiro leant into it, and they held each others’ gazes for as long as it took for Keith to find the words to continue. “I _want_ to help you, Shiro. No matter how furious I am with your incompetency, I still care about you.”

Shiro laughed a little, and brought a hand up to cradle his fingers and press a soft kiss to them. “I feel like our incompetency flows both ways. You have no sense of survival—you spend entire nights in below-freezing weather, don’t eat for days on end—”

“Right, well, I never lived in the wilderness like you, so there is that.”

“And I never once used magick before,” Shiro countered, raising his eyebrows as if challenging Keith to dispute it. “And there is no excuse for you _not_ to learn basic survival, or even the ability to take care of yourself. You never eat breakfast unless I force-feed it to you.”

Keith scoffed, shaking his head and turning away. “Food isn’t necessary.”

Shiro kissed his fingers again before saying, “That is definitely not true. But I won’t argue with you tonight. Get some rest—Pidge has a plan for you tomorrow.”

“A plan?” Keith repeated.

  


  


“You’re superstitious, are you not?” Pidge asked Keith, who sat sandwiched between Shiro and Lance at the kitchen countertop. Keith narrowed his eyes at Pidge, and when he didn’t respond the voices beside him agreed that yes, Keith was superstitious. “So you’ve probably carved pumpkins before?”

“No reason to.”

“What? Why not?” Lance exclaimed, throwing his hands down.

“It’s a children’s gimmick,” Keith countered. “And Allura was against them. She thought they were foolish and gave people reason to mock us. But that was a while ago—when she first came to the town. The town was against sorcery before she opened the apothecary.”

“But you know the history behind it, don’t you?” Pidge said, and when Keith didn’t respond, Lance let out a gasp and Shiro rolled his eyes the other way. “Seriously? I read it in one of _your_ books.”

“Then out with it—I never cared to read about them,” Keith said bitterly, waving his hand for her to start.

“So, essentially, it coincides with polytheism religions in the sense that there was a feud between the god of Death and a mortal being. Death had once been great friends with a mortal named Jack, who was frugal and rotten to the core. He tricked Death on multiple occasions, and to prevent Death from retaliating by taking his soul, Jack would strike a deal with Death to leave him be for some odd years, before performing another trick that resulted again in a deal. And the deal promised that even if Jack died before the deal was done, Death could not claim his soul.

“But the time came for Jack to eventually die,” Pidge said, resting her hands on the kitchen counter. “But Death kept his side of the bargain and didn’t consume Jack’s soul, as the god of Death does with all souls. Instead, he sent Jack into the Great Night with nothing but a candle encased in a turnip. 

“Through the years turnip evolved to potato, gourds, and now pumpkins,” she finished. Lance and Shiro clapped their hands at the end, and Keith merely set his jaw straight. “But the reason I want us to carve pumpkins is because of the tradition that carved pumpkins, when lit, ward away the evil spirits.”

“The galra, you mean?” Keith deadpanned, and Pidge frowned at his lack of festiveness.

“It’s an idea,” she insisted. “Can we just carve some damn pumpkins for one goddamn day without making a fuss about it?” 

“And then roast the seeds?” Lance suggested, and Pidge grinned in response, reaching under the counter and producing a hefty sized pumpkin for him. Keith wondered how she got them into the house without him realizing it.

When it came to carving pumpkins with his apprentice, Lance had a habit of smearing the pumpkin innards over Keith’s arm when he wasn’t looking. They were cold and slimy and heavily contrasted his burning flesh, so every time he squirmed a little and flung them straight back at Lance’s pumpkin. Pidge held her design away from them, so no one would see the final product until it was all said and done.

Shiro was incredibly meticulous with his pumpkin. Each knife stroke was precise and detailed, and each piece to fall away was evenly cut. When he finished, he offered to help Keith with the rest of his, and the two of them finished carving by swapping places with the knife.

“It’s a symbol that supposedly wards away rotten spirits,” Keith explained, “since we’re using superstitions here and all.”

“Aw, I just did a funky face on mine,” Lance whined, showing it to Keith.

“What kind of apprentice are you, studying sorcery and making _faces_ on _pumpkins_?” Keith chastised. They glowered at each other for some time before Pidge clapped her hands at them to keep them on task. 

“Keith, stop making Shiro do all the work.”

“ _What_ , he _offered!_ ” Keith countered sourly, folding his arms over his chest and staring pointedly at Shiro, he glanced up briefly to say, “Uh-huh.”

“ _Shiro!_ ”

Keith snickered smugly at Pidge as she stared in shock at her mentor. She then turned her gaze on to Keith, and that expression instantly fizzled into a mixture of accusation and fury. She jabbed a knife in his direction and said, teeth clenched and eyes squinted. “You beast. You’ve ruined my teacher.”

“Pidge…” Shiro chastened in warning, not looking up from the pumpkin. 

“What! You were perfectly capable before we came here, and now you’ve been seduced and bewitched and I _won’t. have it_.”

“Seduced, huh?” Lance murmured from the side, distracted by plunging a knife through the pumpkin’s exocarp. “Since when was Keith capable of being seductive?”

Keith was on the verge of disputing it before realizing what position that would put him in. He came to the conclusion that he detested being accused of _not_ being able to do something.

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” Shiro muttered, stabbing the middle piece and removing a chunk of pumpkin from the design. He passed it to Keith, who put it in the compost pile before realizing that Lance was now staring at them. 

“Why didn’t he dispute it?” Lance demanded of Keith, pointing to Shiro. “He just agreed that you— _Keith,_ why didn’t he dispute it? Why aren’t you arguing with me? _Keith, why_!”

“Don’t ask questions you aren’t prepared to handle the answers to,” Keith answered, and promptly reclaimed his pumpkin and placed a large candle inside. With a snap of his fingers, the wick lit the interior of the pumpkin, and he left the kitchen to place it on the porch of the house. He stepped outside briefly where the afternoon light barely reached him past the pine trees, and positioned the pumpkin on the upper step. 

When he came back inside, it was almost as if Lance’s eyes never left him once. Keith sat down quietly between him and Shiro, and ignored Lance’s shocked face as he said, “Would anyone like some tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have written, so the rest will be squeezed out of my brain as one does with oranges to make orange juice. Either that, or as one does to squeeze a brain of its blood and knowledge.


	8. { the predators }

“So you suggest we leave... and fail to mention that it’s because you will be mothering a dragon?” Lance said, looking mostly disturbed by the idea, now that he couldn’t help but look at Shiro weirdly and turn that same look to Keith. He was having a hard time comprehending the details. 

“I wouldn’t say ‘mothering’, because that suggests—” Keith stopped because he realized the criteria listed under the word “mothering”. To care for, feed, raise… Keith was going to be doing all of those things for the drake Shiro and Pidge tossed into his hearth. 

“But either way!” Lance shouted, throwing his arms down in exasperation. “Don’t you think that is a _major_ detail you left out? Up until last week I didn’t even think dragons existed! It’s like… it’s like claiming dinosaurs are still roaming around. You do realize how absurd the idea is, right? And should we really be bringing back an extinct race anyway? Perhaps there is a reason they aren’t around anymore—what if things have changed so much that our air is toxic to them? What if the drake won’t be able to eat our food?” 

“To be fair, drakes are commonly known for consuming large portions of ferns, nuts, and wheats,” Pidge said. “Ferns haven’t changed much at all, from a biological standpoint. In fact, they’re the least evolved species of plant.”

“And yet we don’t have any ferns out here,” Keith said. “Great. So we’ll have to root around hibernation dens for copious amounts of nuts.”

“We collected nuts from across here and Arus, to test which kinds the drake likes best,” Shiro explained. “We won’t have to feed it for a few days as it consumes the egg, but after that…”

“How much longer do you suppose it will take before the egg hatches?” Lance asked, and Pidge instantly looked to Shiro, who gave an uncertain shrug.

“A few more days, maybe? It’s likely that the egg would have hatched by now,” he said, and the confession pricked Keith painfully in the chest. The idea that the egg was faulty registered, and the fear that the drake wouldn’t emerge became entirely real. Several weeks prior, Keith would have leapt for joy hearing that the drake wasn’t going to hatch. 

Now, he realized that the drake was the one thing that would give Keith more time to spend with Shiro. If the drake didn’t hatch, he wouldn’t leave the town with Shiro and Pidge.

“I thought dragons were carnivores,” Lance confessed, now frowning at the hearth. “Ferns, nuts, and wheats don’t sound like meat.”

“That’s because they aren’t,” Pidge said, adjusting her specs. “The idea that dragons are carnivores is a myth. They are herbivores, though some species have the correct digestive system to be omnivores. They start out as plant-eaters, though, so we’ll have to see as we go along. No one really tracked the morphology of all dragons—adventurers and explorers were mostly interested in uncovering the powerful and rare species.”

Keith peered out the windows in the living room, where the night was just beginning to descend from the east, overpowering the west. “You should start heading back, it’s getting dark,” he told Lance.

The kid frowned childishly and whined, “But can’t I sleep over? _They_ get to sleep over!”

“No,” Keith said, pointing to the door. “You can’t stay the night. And they get to stay because _where else are they going to stay?_ ”

“He has a point,” Shiro admitted, shrugging lightly. Lance frowned at them and deflated with a sigh. “I’m sure it is more exciting living in the middle of town, though.”

“Yeah, if you consider living in close proximity to the neighboring couple across the alley. They are _newly weds_ , mind you,” Lance said. “I’ve gone so far as to inflict myself with temporary deafness.”

“It was permanent until I made it temporary,” Keith said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought your hearing back.”

“How did you manage that?” Pidge asked, but Keith silenced the conversation and began ushering Lance out of his house. Out on the porch Lance whined one last time about wanting to stay the night, standing amongst the pumpkins they carved the day before. Keith narrowed his eyes at Lance and drew a line in between them. 

“This is the division of teacher and student. Don’t cross it—I mark that hug the other day as one strike.”

“How many strikes are there?” Lance asked, and when Keith merely glowered at him, he cried out, “ _Keith that isn’t fair_! Pidge and Shiro are together all the time! Keith! _Keith, don’t close the door_!”

The lock sounded on the door, and Lance pressed against it whining for Keith to let him back in before Pidge’s face appeared in the window beside it. She stuck her tongue out at him and pulled at the skin underneath her eye, and Lance mockingly scoffed at her before turning on his heels and heading back down the steps of the porch.

Lance had a funny way of looking at Keith’s house. Sure, it would always have the feel of an authority’s place—like he wasn’t supposed to be there half the time because of the dividing line Keith laid down between them. It was weird suddenly having his mentor, who seemed so unmoving, to start letting Lance hang around. 

Of course, the man _had_ suggested they raise a dragon together. If that wasn’t strange, Lance wasn’t sure _what_ was anymore. There were plenty of strange things happening to him every day. He swore the other night one of Keith’s medicine jars _blinked_ at him. He would have been interested to find out what was in there, if it hadn’t _blinked at him first_. There were two things Lance refused to deal with: dissecting live animals, and preserving live animals. Live animals were meant to be _alive_ —it’s the reason why he rarely ate meat. 

On occasion he could go for the local poultry, directed by Hunk of course, simply because it helped the farmers and such. But hunters? No thank you. He refused to let Hunk bring venison over to his flat, no matter how much the big guy loved that stuff.

A gust of wind came in, and he reached into his heavy black coat and pulled on a hat to cover his ears. “I can’t believe Keith never gets cold,” he thought to himself bitterly, already feeling his nose go numb. He rubbed at it as he approached the back door of the shop and started rifling around his pocket. There was a set of stairs leading up to the door, so he climbed them and his boot heels clapped against the concrete. 

He really needed a pumpkin on his doorstep. It _was_ late autumn, after all.

The sound of a cat’s meow approached him, plodding up the steps of the apartment. Lance had just retrieved his keys when he looked down and found a neighborhood cat at his feet. He’d seen her around before, but usually she never came to the shop—Lance suspected Keith had up a barrier to prevent black cats from entering. But alas, this one found him.

“Hey there little guy,” Lance cooed, crouching down and scratching at her head. There were other cats around, but none of them were quite as friendly as this one. Lance often saw her out by the farmer’s market begging for treats. “What are you doing out here? A bit cold, isn’t it?”

A deep rumbling started in her chest, and he laughed, picking her up in his arms and moving on to open up the door. “I’ll leave a window open for you to leap out if you don’t want to stick around. Sound good?” he said, letting her rub her head against the underside of his chin.

“Hey Lance!” He heard someone shout from behind, and turned to find Hunk coming down the alleyway. “You’re back!”

The cat butted her head against Lance’s chin again, and had he been more familiar with the sensation, he would have noticed a weird flicker of white light in his vision. But at the time, it just seemed like a brief passing. 

“Want to come in for a bit?” Lance suggested, a grin pulling at his lips as he nodded towards the door. “I nabbed some of Keith’s whiskey when he wasn’t looking.”

Hunk climbed the first few steps and laughed. “Sure, I could go for some.”

When he came to the doorstep, Lance bumped the door open with his hip and swept his arm out gracefully to Hunk to enter. As Hunk passed, the grin on Lance’s face turned diabolical, and he kicked the door shut with the black cat still in his arms.

  


  


“I really hate coming to town now,” Keith confessed in an undertone. Shiro, Pidge, and he were walking through the marketplace when Keith came to this revelation, so he kept his voice down to avoid offending the townspeople who smiled at him when they caught his eye. 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because I know we’re being followed around now, that’s why,” Keith replied, and made a point not to look at Shiro when he said it. He didn’t need to openly blame him now that they understood each other. That didn’t stop Keith from feeling bitter about the galra presence anyway. “And I don’t know how they work or what they’re doing, but… they haven’t struck yet.”

“I imagine they won’t strike,” Pidge said. “They would have struck me by now.”

“Perhaps it involves inflicting other people with scars like mine,” Shiro suggested. “Since each scar represents one galra. I hand down my scars to another person.”

“But you would have to be out of your mind to harm another person, wouldn’t you?” Keith argued. “It doesn’t make sense.”

He divided from the group to check in on a patient’s home, and promised to meet them at the shop later. On the way, he passed Hunk’s bakery, which was closed. After walking past it, Keith skidded to a halt and backtracked. _Hm, that’s odd_ , he thought. The bakery was normally open every weekday at this time. 

He made a mental note to ask Lance if Hunk was all right.

After Keith visited the elderly lady whose home was on the street behind the bakery, he continued on to the shop with the lady’s empty prescription bottle in his satchel. There, he found Shiro and Pidge waiting outside the front door, on a bench nearby. Keith glared at the shop window before walking over to them. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“We don’t know. The doors are locked—we checked the backdoor too,” Shiro said, rising up to his full height. Keith looked back at the shop and reached into his pocket for the key.

When they opened the front door and entered the threshold, Keith became aware that Lance hadn’t even stepped foot in the store. It was dark, and the light from the front windows cast long shadows to the back where the stairs were to the upper portion of the store. He didn’t make a point to root around Lance’s flat, and the fact that Hunk’s shop was also closed gave Keith reason _not_ to root around up there.

“Lance lives above, right? Can we go up there?” Pidge asked, started forward just as a shadow leapt up from behind the counter. All three of them jumped back, startled by the fact that there was a _cat_ in the _shop_. 

Keith stared at it as its tail twitched, yellow eyes watching them in a way that seemed all too familiar to him. His chest ached at the memory of the galra emerging from behind the shed—eyes yellow, like a cat’s. “Don’t touch it,” Keith warned, holding Pidge back by the hood of her jacket. She staggered away, and as Keith took a step back, the cat followed in pursuit. 

Its nimble paws navigated around a set of bottles, of books, coming across the store and chasing them out as Keith backed away, through the door, and pushing Shiro and Pidge with him. Once out, Keith pressed his back to the door as if the cat was capable of escaping out it. 

“Something’s wrong,” he murmured to them, stepping back and looking at the door. It happened in the time it took for Keith to blink, for the white light to intercept the darkness behind his eyelids. When he saw the shop again, it was washed out, dry, white, and blindingly bright. He saw the figure of the galra jumping down from the countertop, and approaching the door where Keith stood—the glass and wood separating them. 

The creature’s eyes blinked slowly, the expression they partook in menacing as he approached the window, reaching a clawed hand towards it. Pressed against the glass it made up twice the size of Keith’s own palm, and made a hollow, muted noise, clawing against the glass. It all sounded like they stood in a tube of water, until those diabolical teeth spread into the form of a smile.

“ _Keith Kogane…_ ”

Keith’s fists bundled up at his sides, and he shouted, “How do you know me!” The usual flame that came with his fury seemed to sputter out into smoke. No matter how empty he felt without it, he couldn’t stop from yelling at the damn thing.

The creature curled in four of its fingers, leaving only the index finger pressing against the glass. And then, his gaze turned skyward, and Keith followed the look, up to the second story of the shop.

“Lance,” he whispered, and all at once he was thrown back into the darkness, the contrast, the real world where he found Shiro standing in front of him, holding him up by the shoulders.

“Keith, Keith, are you all right?” Shiro said, and gently shook him. Keith blinked, almost afraid of being pitched back into the blinding whiteness, but Shiro remained when his eyes opened again. 

He tried to speak, but his voice felt like that strange world—dry and empty. “Lance is in trouble,” he managed to croak out. “I should have set up a barrier sooner—I should have—”

“It’s fine, Keith, it’s not your fault,” Shiro said, now rubbing his arms gently. The action made Keith’s already dry throat close up and he felt like bursting into tears. “Pidge and I will check on Lance.”

“We will?” Pidge said. “Because I really think—”

“No, Shiro’s right,” Keith said, clearing his throat. “They can’t hurt you two.” _Especially, it seems, Shiro_.

He pulled Keith close for a brief moment, just to rub the warmth back into Keith’s now bitter-cold fingers. Perhaps Shiro was right about one thing: A simple wool sweater was certainly not enough for this weather. And then both Shiro and Pidge entered the shop, but the cat remained post at the window display, as if daring Keith to come near the store now.

Keith spent some time staring back at the cat before realizing why he was staring. He was expecting to be thrown back in to that deadly white world where Shiro’s demons waited. It was mad of him to think that he craved seeing that godforsaken galra again—he wanted to explode with the anticipation of getting a few words out of him, anything more than just Keith’s own name. 

How could they be conscious of who Keith was? What did they know? 

One thing was certain: This one was mocking him. This one could take the form of animals—and the thought of this brought Keith back to the occurrence at the shed. The galra _had_ taken form in the real world—but at the sake of what? _The ravens_ —Keith had fed them the day before, and as always, some where out of their cages. Could the galra perhaps…?

The time Keith spent panicking in his head felt like ages before the light on the store came on and he saw Pidge scrambling down the steps. She flew around the counter and ran to the door, flinging it open and panting in front of Keith. “I-It’s bad, you have to—”

“I can’t go in there with the cat there,” Keith insisted. “Put it—no, _no_ , don’t touch it! You can’t touch it!” 

“Then how the hell—?” she said frantically. “You need to get upstairs _now_.”

Keith looked at the cat again, whose eyes had yet to leave Keith’s. He gulped and reluctantly agreed. “Just… give me a second.”

Pidge led the way inside, and as Keith crossed the threshold, he laid a broad “X” over his chest with his finger, and felt it burn against the fabric of his clothes as he repeated a spell in his head, one that he was surprised to remember. The cat continued to stare out the window as if it didn’t realize Keith snuck straight past it.

 _I’ll have to remember that works_ , he mused to himself just as Pidge grabbed his hand and hauled him across the room.

As they scrambled up the stairs at a break-neck pace, Keith tripped a little on the last few and staggered onto Lance’s rug, and wandered clumsily into his living room. It’d been a while since Keith last set foot in here—it smelled like spices and herbs, just like all of Lance’s things he wore. It was the smell of the store, after all. 

He didn’t find Shiro or Lance anywhere in the open space, but he heard something slam against the wall in the other room, and someone shouted profanities at the top of their lungs. Pidge winced and ran to the door, opening it just as something hurtled through the air and crashed into the wall—shattering into pieces. 

Keith cringed, approaching the door and instantly wishing he hadn’t. Pidge was right, it was an absolute _mess_.

The first obvious thing Keith noticed was the fact that someone was laying naked on the bed, and it _definitely_ wasn’t Lance. Hunk’s body was partially covered by blankets, and he was completely unconscious even as another crash exploded across the room and Shiro shouted, “ _Fuck!_ ” and an entire wardrobe went crashing to the ground, and everything in it flew across the room in a furious tumult of clothes and shoes and everything in between.

Keith barely got sight of Lance before the young sorcerer’s eyes were on him. There was definitely _not_ something right in the way Lance’s eyes flashed yellow, or the fact that he was only in a pair of undergarments. 

“Shit,” Keith hissed under his breath. In an instant Lance hurtled over the fallen wardrobe, and Shiro grabbed for Lance’s arm. He held for a split second before Lance’s free hand went up, and with the most self-control Keith had every seen in the kid, managed to fling Shiro away.

Shiro’s shoulders slammed against the wall, and with a sharp swing of his arm, Lance sent him up to the ceiling, knocking away paintings and pictures. Shiro’s head rammed into the moulding, and Keith winced at the sound—and when he finally fell, he stayed down.

“Shiro!” Pidge cried out, gasping with her hands over her mouth. The sound brought Lance’s attention back to them. 

“ _Keith Kogane…_ ” Lance sneered. Instantly Keith threw Pidge back behind him, and swung up his arms. 

Keith had far more control in the real world than he did in that demon’s false reality.

Mid-stride, Lance’s limbs snapped together and he went down _hard_. He collapsed in a rage of curses—and not just simple profanities. Keith thanked the fact that he laid down the covering on his chest. At least that way, Lance’s words were merely deflected. 

Lance snapped at him with his teeth, yellow eyes flashing, about to shout another curse until Keith conducted his other hand, zipping Lance’s mouth shut. He held his hands there, the effort steadily growing as he realized something crucial—Lance had more power over his abilities possessed like this.

The items in the room started to shake, and at first Keith simply thought it was his own rage getting out of control. But Lance’s marks were started to glow—the way some did when sapping so much magick. 

“Pidge, _run!_ ” Keith shouted, taking a step back, hands still splayed in the air.

“But Shiro and Hunk!” she cried back.

“I’ll take care of it—just _go!_ ”

As soon as he heard Pidge take off down the stairs, Keith released the binds just as the room turned inside out, upside down, and distracted Lance long enough for Keith reach a hand out and shout madly, “ _TOLLENT!_ ” 

His clawed hands yanked away from Lance. Lance’s chest surged forward, and he collapsed no more than a foot away from Keith. The bright blue glow of his markings seemed to transpire through his chest, and evaporate into thin air. All at once, the objects in the room collapsed, and Keith flinched at the fact that the bodies went down with them.

Everything in the flat seemed to quiver, and he heard several objects in the other rooms clatter to the floor. He stared for a moment, waiting for Lance to retaliate, but the man didn’t get up, just as Shiro and Hunk didn’t.

He leapt over Lance’s body and hurried to Shiro, hauling him out from behind the wardrobe that collapsed. As he did so, a groan escaped them both. The effort it took sent Keith’s feet skidding out from under him, and he collapsed with Shiro partially on top of him.

“Keith…” Shiro groaned. “I… think I hit my head.”

“Yeah, really hard,” Keith laughed a little. He had no right to laugh at this situation, but he did anyway. “Can you walk?”

“Dizzy—”

“I’ll take that as a no,” he sighed, and started to rise. He looked over at Hunk and wished he hadn’t, but he did anyway and hurried as best he could to toss the sheets over Hunk’s naked body. _Well, that solves that mystery_ , Keith thought to himself.

Shiro was propped up against the wall, looking around the room with squinty eyes. 

“We can’t touch them,” Keith said. “I think Lance might have inflicted Hunk—so we have to assume it’s by contact.”

“By sex—Keith… I could have inflicted you,” Shiro said, drawing Keith’s attention away from the two unconscious bodies. Shiro’s eyes were glassy, but perhaps that was just the concussion. “This could have been you, and it would have been my fault—”

“It’s okay, it didn’t happen,” Keith insisted, shaking his head. “It’s fine.”

“ _No_ it isn’t,” Shiro insisted, shaking his head and groaning with the effort. He put a hand on his skull. “It’s _my fault—_ ”

“Shiro, don’t say that,” Keith snapped. “It’s not like you had sex with Lance—it’s the damn cat’s fault! I—I don’t know, I think they can take over animals—only animals can transfer it to humans.”

“But we _are_ animals, Keith—”

“You don’t understand—I don’t think you, yourself, are capable of inflicting others. You’re simple a host—something they follow but don’t interact with. They can only interact with… animals, and inflict others through them,” Keith explained, but he could tell Shiro’s head was still hurting. Keith sighed dreadfully, thinking he should probably share this information with Pidge until Shiro felt better. “I need to exorcise Lance and Hunk—I have a feeling it will work with them better than it did with you.”

“O-Okay.”


	9. { the souls }

Cleaning up was a mess, and that included the exorcisms. It was as if the ritual became a casual, daily thing for Keith. With his own magick running low, he had Pidge help him with Hunk—getting at least _some_ clothes on him before performing the ritual. Surprisingly, Keith didn’t collapse like he had with Shiro. It concurred with his idea that the hex on Shiro was far more intricate that its offsprings. Shiro’s hex would be a tough nut to crack.

And unlike Shiro’s exorcism, which evidently involved both Keith and Shiro being unconscious for hours afterwards, Hunk perked right up afterwards and shrieked in horror at the fact that he was only in his underwear. He was bright red, profusely apologizing to everyone, for inconveniencing them, for… everything. Just… everything.

“I _swear_ it was just a one time thing—I won’t bother you guys—just _please_ don’t punish Lance—”

“Hunk, it’s fine,” Keith said, even though he could barely look the man in the eyes. The effect would fade, eventually. He wasn’t sure Shiro _or_ Pidge could look at Lance the same way either—apparently Lance had been raving around nude before Shiro managed to knock him out briefly with a swift punch to the head before they could put some clothes on him. “I’ve known for some time.”

The red in Hunk’s face barely faded at the reassurance. Keith laughed a little, turning away and rubbing a hand to his throbbing head. “And honestly, if I were you, I wouldn’t tell Lance about it just being a ‘one time thing’.”

Following Lance’s exorcism, which took place around the general vicinity in which he collapsed, Keith sliced his hand in a cutting motion up the length of Lance’s body, as he had for Shiro and Hunk, only this time, the shock of the effect was enough to send him staggering, and it seemed to send a ripple through the burnt lines of the pentagram. 

Smoke rose up from the marks, and Lance began to convulse, chest lifting, limbs spasming. He arched his back and released an animalistic screech that tore a cloud of black ash into the air. The charred color started seeping from his hairline, pixelating, and evaporating from his skin as it neared his now bloodshot eyes. 

Keith lost his footing as something seemed to knock his knees out from under him. Pidge grappled to slow his descent, and the throbbing in his head became enough to force his eyes close.

When he next woke up, he was staring at what appeared to be the carvings on the ceiling in Lance’s living room. His eyes felt heavy and crusty, so he reached up a limp arm. His hand sort of fell on his own face before he was even able to rub at his eyes. As he did, he vaguely heard something off to the side, and let his head flop on the pillow so he could look out at the room, and directly into Shiro’s eyes.

Shiro had his head resting on his hands, peering at Keith as he tried to process why Shiro had a white patch of hair and a scar on his nose. The instant he started worrying and panicking over it, he realized that this was normal now—this was Shiro. If he had control over his arm, he would have hugged the man.

Instead, he merely looked elsewhere, but everywhere else was blurry. He saw someone sitting in a chair, leaning their elbows on their knees. They said something to the side, but he couldn’t quite catch it. He turned to Shiro again and mouthed, “The well.”

  


  


Keith slumped against the stone of the well edge and felt that distant urge to plunge straight in. He gripped the edge with as much strength as he could, and, for a while, simply laid there. It felt like this immense weight was pushing on him, forcing him down and sapping all energy within him. The closest feeling he could compare it to was a time he went several days without sleep—sustained only by magick.

He breathed out and it escaped him in an icy cloud. “Is he okay? He can’t do the ritual on his own,” Shiro said somewhere beside him.

“Being here will help him recuperate. Give it a few more ticks.”

The voice was coming back to him, and he blinked vacantly ahead of him past the lip of the well. Someone was sitting across from him—Pidge. “I would advise that you do not get too close,” someone said, standing over Keith. He felt the shadow over him.

“Sorry—I’m just very interested in it,” Pidge said. “You had Lance drink from the well even though he was better, but not Hunk—”

“Ordinary people cannot stomach most of the source’s gifts. They consume it in other ways, yes, but directly from the well is unpleasant. It is not deadly, drinking it, but it… can cause illnesses.”

Keith moaned against the rock, pressing his face against it and planting his palm on the brick-lined edge. He vaguely heard someone say not to touch him, and if he wasn’t so bitterly cursing in his head, he would have thanked them. After having heaved himself up onto two hands, he didn’t even bother with the powder—he pushed his palms against the rock, fingers pulsing, and an instant later flames erupted around the well, consuming him, and sending several people screaming in panic.

“ _Don’t_ touch him—he will be fine,” the woman stressed, and Keith barely managed to focus his mind before it reared back, recognizing the voice. 

He turned slightly, bloodshot, blackened eyes searching for the face that owned that voice. It sounded like—but that couldn’t be. He was certain she would never come back this way, and yet, he found her standing not too far away, heavy white hair the signature of her look. Even with blurry eyes he could see her smiling encouragingly at him, but stern all the same in her posture.

He looked back at the well, stunned, unmoving. He couldn’t understand why Allura was there, his mentor—or was she? There were times when her presence in the cabin seemed almost tactile, and yet, phantasmic. But this apparition seemed entirely… _real_.

He breathed out the idea of her, and accepted the sway of the well until he could finally sit back and crawl out of the flames. They flickered almost instantly, backtracking around the circle and dissipating where his feet were. After a moment, he found a hand reaching out to him, and he took it. It was Shiro.

“I thought… we wouldn’t get you here fast enough,” Shiro said. 

Keith cleared his throat, and felt his Adam’s apple bob. His eyes searched Shiro’s face before saying, “What about your concussion?”

Shiro raised a hand up to his hair and smoothed it back, saying, “It’s fixed now. Don’t worry about it.”

At this, he felt a hand touch the back of his elbow, and he whirled around as if to defend himself, but came face to face with that white-haired woman. The shock on his face elicited a laugh from her. “Hello again, Keith,” Allura said.

After a brief moment of standing apart, he lunged for her and, for once, didn’t feel an ounce of hesitation hugging another person. His arms went around her, and he felt her do the same, squeezing him around his torso, and letting him rest his chin against her shoulder. “What are you doing here?” he asked, pulling back with a hand still on her shoulder. 

She blinked at him and managed a soft, charming smile. “I came to check in on you,” she said, but he’d heard that before. On several occasions, and each one of them happened to be at the exact moment he fucked up one way or another. He retracted his hand with a scowl.

“You _spy_ ,” he accused. “And you claim _I’m_ omniscient.”

“I hoped it would rub off on you,” she confessed, and glanced around at the gathering of people. Keith did the same, noting that it wasn’t just Shiro here. Pidge, Lance, _and_ Hunk were lingering around the well, and he hated seeing how amused Lance was by the entire affair. “To be fair, I spent the last week traveling here—which is a testament to how far I actually was,” she told Keith. “And yet I _still_ managed to sense something was amiss. You do realize I am still quite fond of this place; I would hate to see it destroyed.”

“We aren’t destroying anything,” Keith countered, aggravated.

“Clearly,” she said, barely moving her mouth as she walked around the well, pacing away from Keith and approaching Lance. “I scattered a bewitched cat, Shiro was concussed until I came, and your apprentice was possessed.”

“You happened to come at a terrible time,” Keith insisted. “I could have healed Shiro.”

“Keith, I am not patronizing you—”

“It sounds like you are. Why else would you take it upon yourself to ‘check in’ with me?” he snapped, making as if to march over to her, but Shiro held him back with a hand gripping his wrist. “I can handle this—”

Allura’s expression turned hard, and her frown caused her smile lines to seem less kind. Her purplish eyes narrowed at him. “Keith, not even I understand what is happening with the galra,” she said. “Pidge has informed me of the events up to date. I have merely come to assist.”

“Assist in _what_ —the fact that there are unseen creatures lingering around my house or the dragon in my hearth?” he countered. “I’ve dealt with worse before.”

“I know you have, Keith,” she said slowly. “But as your former teacher, it is my _duty_ to help you when I can. I feel this situation warrants my attention, whether or not you agree with me now.” Allura’s slim, nimble fingers were folded together in front of her, decorated with dozens of rings that glinted in the minimal light that filtered through the pine tree needles. Her heavy coat framed her neck in a flaring motion, edged with thick black fur that contrasted heavily against the white braids in her hair. He could help but feel a sense of nostalgia seeing her again, and, after a moment of feeling Shiro’s hand rubbing against his wrists, Keith gave in to the comfort of having his mentor there.

“Fine,” he said at last, “but you mentioned you don’t know anything more about the galra than we do—so it’s true that we wouldn’t find them in any of the books at the shop?”

“I’m afraid not,” Allura said, glancing over at Lance, who, to Keith’s surprise, looked as if he was about ready to worship her. “When we were at the store earlier, I made a point to sweep the shelves and see if I forgot something. The idea that the galra can’t access a human brain without first occupying an animal one is… interesting, though.”

“Humans are animals though, miss,” Pidge said from the side. “If we’re following a religious standpoint as well, then I would have to say the difference between mankind and animals is the fact that we possess a soul.”

“I’m not certain, but I do not think souls are involved in this,” Allura said, and it caused Pidge to deflate. Keith studied them for a moment before interrupting.

“She might be right, though,” he said, pointing to Pidge. “Ghosts are generally vagrant souls and any other apparition is a variation of either souls or hallucinations. But I’m under the impression that the galra aren’t even earth-bound. They don’t have an afterlife to go to, which means that they can’t be ghosts.

“Most—not all, but most—possessions are made by beings with souls or mutations of human-like souls,” he continued. “That said, perhaps the galra aren’t capable of possessing people directly without a transition. They start small and build up from there, like kickstarting an intense form of reincarnation without the rebirth, which is to say that animals might have a primitive soul that provides them a gateway to ours.”

When he finished, they were all staring at him in a mixture of dismay and amazement. Lance was now looking between Allura and Keith, as if debating who deserved his undying dedication. Allura had her wide purple eyes on him, considering his proposal and pursing her lips together. At last she lowered her hands with a slight nod. “It’s a decent place to start. Tell me what protective spell you put on the house so I can do the same to the shop. I will spend the night there thinking of possibilities to combat the galra.”

“I could help,” Pidge suggested, and Keith saw how Allura’s eyes widened a fraction, taken aback by a non-magick-wielding girl showing interest in the subject. She seemed to registered that she crossed a line. “I’ve… been helping out at the shop with Lance for a little while, reading up on your books. I mean, sometimes—I don’t know if you find this useful, but sometimes thinking out loud can… help a person come to accurate conclusions faster.”

Allura glanced at Keith, as if wondering where he managed to find a girl like Pidge around. He cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Pidge is Shiro’s apprentice. She was a gifted student in university.”

“That explains it,” she mused softly, placing her hands on her hips as she examined the look of absolute hope on Pidge’s face. “I don’t see why not. What do you know of making tea?”

“Anything and everything, miss.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

  


  


Keith was entirely aware of what it meant having Allura show up. It wasn’t as if he could scrub her essence away from the very floorboards of the house—it was still _her_ house. He knew she was simply respecting him by staying the night at the store, and also assisting in the galra case, but in all honesty he suddenly felt like a stranger being left alone in the kitchen. Of course Shiro was there, but it didn’t help Keith feel at all in control. 

The fact that Allura was there meant that Keith _didn’t_ know what he was doing. She was here to set that straight. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but this much was true: Allura was still his mentor whether he liked it or not.

He put a hand to his chin and pulled his fingers against his bottom lip. This wasn’t his case anymore. This wasn’t his responsibility now—but he _wanted_ it to be. He _wanted_ to prove that he could do this. He was capable of cracking this. He was capable of getting rid of the galra. There was a reason his name was known in the sorcery community.

For a while, he was wholly concentrating on the countertop in front of him. It wasn’t until Shiro came in front of his vision that his eyes focused and he was able to come back to reality. “You’re stressed,” he commented.

Keith scoffed and said, “That’s an understatement. How can I not be? I should be able to _do this_ without a mentor now—she doesn’t trust me, why else would she _show up_? When she never showed up on any other terrible occasion?” 

He was aware that Shiro knew exactly what situation Keith was talking about, and it caused the man to frown as he gathered up Keith’s hands in his own. He pulled Keith’s fingers away from his lips and said, “You have every right to be stressed, angry—but that doesn’t change the fact that we really could use Allura’s help. And besides, you are right about one thing: Allura hasn’t been around. Which means you should really be grateful that she is now. She cares about you, Keith—this is her way of showing it.”

“She cares about making sure I don’t fuck up,” Keith countered.

“That’s true, but anyone who cares about you would want to prevent you from fucking up,” Shiro said, laughing a little as Keith rolled his eyes. “I’d hate to see you fuck up.”

“Isn’t that flattering,” Keith jested, pulling gently at his hands that were still grasped between Shiro’s. Their fingers twisted together, and Shiro let them hang lazily between them. Keith looked down at them and stayed there, letting Shiro adjust his grip and sooth his thumbs over Keith’s knuckles. “You don’t suppose…” he started, feeling his throat closing up at the thought. He cleared it awkwardly, still keeping his gaze focused on their hands. “You don’t suppose that… if I’m right, and that the galra can’t possess people directly through _you_ , necessarily…”

 _Gods, what a childish way to ask_ , Keith moaned to himself, feeling his face flare up red, especially when he heard Shiro laugh a little under his breath.

“What do you make of Hunk being infected then?” Shiro asked.

“But you technically _aren’t_ infected—not like Lance was, anyway,” Keith said, going red. “If you don’t want to then—I mean, I was just thinking that—”

He felt Shiro lean in and soon Keith’s head was pressed against his chest, and he felt Shiro’s lips against his hair. “I… don’t want to take any chances,” he admitted softly against Keith’s hair. “Not when it comes to you. And I know it was stupid of me to ignore the fact that there was something wrong with me before, but I won’t do that again. I’m sorry, Keith.”

He breathed out against Shiro’s shirt and whispered, “It’s fine.”

Keith held himself against Shiro’s chest for as long as it took for him to understand that they had to be reasonable about this. And if that meant holding back his carnal wants, then so be it. He _knew_ it was irresponsible of him to want sex after learning about Shiro’s hex and the dangers of it. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to be close to Shiro. He could live with this degree of intimacy, considering he went two years without so much as a smile from Shiro.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured against Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro’s grip on him tightened, and he pressed their heads closer together, kissing Keith’s hair again. 

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” he confessed with a smile. His lips pressed to Keith’s temple before stopping at his ear, whispering, “But you know, Pidge isn’t here. I wouldn’t mind watching everything levitate a little bit.”

Keith rolled his eyes, laughing. “Okay, on second thought, I really _don’t_ want to reorganize everything.”

“Too bad. What do you say? Sex is off limits as of right now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do other things,” he said, grinning at the fact that Keith’s face went red. Why was he acting embarrassed? It was just the two of them anyway. He urged the flush to fade away as he agreed to Shiro’s terms with a devilish grin.

“Just don’t surprise me with weird Arusian stuff. I’m not sure if I’d be able to handle that,” Keith said, pushing Shiro around and guiding him out of the kitchen. Shiro barked out a laugh, and twisted around, threatening to tackle Keith right then and there. He shrieked, howling with laughter as Shiro put his shoulder to Keith’s abdomen and swept him up into the air.

“Trust me, I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about,” Shiro said, squeezing his arms around Keith’s legs as he started towards the bedroom.

“Of course you don’t. Admitting to it would be kind of suspicious, wouldn’t you say?” Keith jested, letting his arms flop and the blood rush to his head from being upside down too long. Shiro chuckled in agreement before stopping, legs hitting the edge of the bed, and flipping Keith down onto the mound of puffy comforters. He collapsed with an _oof!_ and propped himself on his elbows, coming face to face with Shiro as he prowled over Keith, bracing his hands on either side of Keith’s shoulders. 

“Just for the record,” Shiro started, relaxing his position so his knees framed Keith’s hips, “I never slept with anyone after I left. There was one time—last year—when I nearly did, but… I couldn’t do it. I missed you so much—I couldn’t do that to you. And I know it’s ridiculous, but I thought that… _if_ I happened to have sex with another person, I’d be hurting you somehow. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Keith sat up a bit straighter, attempting to meet Shiro’s gaze even as his eyes flitted everywhere but Keith’s face. He reached a hand up to cup Shiro’s chin, and the man frantically added: “Pidge knew about it, but I told her not to talk about it unless I couldn’t bring it up. I don’t like talking about it.”

“But you didn’t have sex with them,” Keith reiterated, and Shiro nodded. “I don’t see what the problem is. I mean, are _you_ okay? What were the circumstances?” 

Shiro rubbed his hand against the one Keith held his chin with. He looked embarrassed. “Pidge and I made a point to frequent the taverns along the cost of Arus. I happened to get… _completely_ smashed, and at the time I was supposed to be supervising Pidge because that was how it went—we would take turns between taverns picking who would stay relatively sober for the night. 

“But she didn’t drink that much, and she found me being escorted out of the tavern by a local girl. I won’t go into the details, but Pidge… _really_ knocked the girl out. Evidently she was known for slipping guys laced drinks, fucking them, and walking off with their belongings,” he explained, turning his eyes shamefully in Keith’s direction. “It was moronic of me. Pidge already gave me an earful, but I wouldn’t be opposed to hearing the same from you.”

After a moment, Keith snorted and pumped his head against Shiro’s chest. “I can’t believe you were nearly swindled by a whore,” he giggled, and threw his head back laughing. He flopped onto the mattress, throwing his arms over his face. “Of _all the people!_ ”

“You’re laughing,” Shiro said, lowering himself down to look into Keith’s face. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a funny story.”

“My sense of humor has never exactly been ‘normal’,” he countered, dropping his arms and tilting his head to the side. Shiro did the same. “I’m glad you told me, but seriously: aside from participating in a ritual, this is by far the stupidest thing you’ve done.”

He lifted his head up to press a chaste kiss to Shiro’s lips before saying, “I’ll have to thank Pidge for babysitting you. Even though it really should be the other way around.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Shiro said, grin stretching as he caught Keith’s lips again and pressed their lips together in slow, languid movements. Keith felt himself dissolving, still giddy inside. The sensation sent his chest fluttering, and his breath became scarce even after taking short breaks from kissing Shiro. His toes curled, back arching and hands drawing Shiro down on top of him as he sunk back, melting into the quilts. 

Every second with Shiro brought warmth fluttering through Keith, and it contrasted against the continual heat of his flesh. This, he could actually feel, and this thrill made it feel as though he couldn’t possibly get closer to Shiro—no absence of clothes could account for how much Keith wanted to be near him. 

He missed this sensation—the one he couldn’t experience the past two years. All the time he spent convincing himself he didn’t need Shiro suddenly vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's ONE SCENE that I REALLY WANT TO GET TO which is basically propelling everything that's happening here because GAH I need more angry paladins in my life. I want to throw ALL OF THE SALT IN HERE. 
> 
> In other news I have yet another fic idea that I'll be starting after exams and such, and it'll be short (shorter than this hopefully) and involve a modern AU featuring mainly Pidge and Lance, with a side order of Keith. It'll be GREAT.


	10. { the shells }

Some time in the middle of the night, Keith groaned as a bit of cold air nipped at him from under the sheets. He tugged at the blankets, only to realize that Shiro was sitting up. “What is it?”

He cracked open an eyelid and peered up at Shiro, who had a hand braced on the mattress, looking at the door. After a moment, he whispered, “I thought I heard something.”

Keith gave up trying to trap the warmth in as soon as Shiro got up from the bed and left a large empty spot where he once was. Reluctantly pushing himself up, Keith followed him out of the room, snatching a sweater on his way out to cover up his bare torso. Gradually, the heat returned to his limbs and he found himself in the middle of the kitchen watching Shiro and listening to the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth. 

“What did it sound like?” Keith asked, and not a moment later he heard it as well. It sounded like… a popping sound. Their attention went to the living room in an instant before Keith turned to Shiro with a mixture of shock and horror on his face. “You don’t think—”

“It’s the egg,” he confirmed, hurrying out of the kitchen and into the living room. “We can’t let it hatch in the hearth—they aren’t born fire-resistant.”

Any speck of sleepiness vanished from Keith as he hurried to clear off the stone coffee table. Shiro rummaged around for the tongs Pidge kept on hand, and instantly shoved away the dwindling logs in the hearth, making way for the shimmering red and orange egg. It had the texture of burning embers as Shiro pulled it from the fire, hurriedly transferring it over to the stone.

Keith felt the heat of it radiating and beating against his skin. When the egg popped next, it shook, and fell on its side. Shiro was braced against the coffee table across from Keith, cradling the tongs in both of his hands. 

The egg released a pop that fizzled and released a shrill cry, like metal being tossed into a full-blown fire pit. It whistled out and a crack punched against its side. It snaked across the surface as the creature clawed at it. The first thing they saw were underdeveloped claws, still fragile as they pulled at the flecks of egg shell. A chip fell in to the dark pit within the egg. They didn’t see three-toed talons for another several minutes, and when they did, it was with more fervor that the drake fought to emerge.

It was little more than a mangled-looking baby chick. It looked as though it would sprout feathers at any moment with how pinkish-yellow the flesh was. Without defined scales it seemed weak. Its eyes had several layers of lids, and it blinked every one of them up at them, small, knobby limbs struggling to climb the ridge of the egg shell.

Shiro propped the egg on its side, allowing the drake easy access to the stone. “Wow,” he murmured, voice hushed and amazed as the drake turned back to the egg shell and chomped its jaws onto a sharp edge. Its teeth were small, but enough to break away another chunk of it. 

Keith brought his hand forward and gently hovered the back of his palm above the drake’s back. It was distracted, eating the shell, so Keith was able to gauge the heat of its flesh from simply holding his hand over it. “Do you think I could…?”

“Gently,” Shiro warned, nodding, and they both held their breath as Keith laid two fingers over the spine of the creature. It didn’t pause for a moment, munching away at the shell, and as Keith gently smoothed his fingers over its back and its small tail, they could hear the cracking of shell bits between its tiny teeth. 

After a while of just simply petting the drake, Shiro pointed to the tail, so Keith lifted it between two fingers. “She’s a girl,” Shiro confirmed. “Did you have any ideas for names?”

“ _Names_?” Keith repeated, incredulous. “Of course not, I didn’t want to get attached too soon. On the off-chance that it wouldn’t hatch.”

“Pidge was thinking something non-gender specific,” he said, leaning his arms on the tabletop and smiling down at the little beast. “Like Rover.”

“I’m fine with Rover,” Keith confessed. “Considering I didn’t have any other ideas.”

“Rover it is then?” Shiro said, looking up at Keith. It wasn’t until they saw each other than Keith realized how stupidly he was smiling at the drake. He made his smile a little more subtle, and nodded in agreement. “The first ever dragon in _centuries_ … and we’re naming her Rover,” Shiro laughed. “Pidge will have a field day—oh gods.”

“What?”

Shiro stared at the drake in horror. “Pidge is going to throw a fit—she wanted to be the first to see it hatch.”

  


  


“Are you _kidding me!_ ” The initial excitement of seeing the drake faded no more than a second later, and Keith saw exactly what Shiro warned him about. Pidge was _beyond_ furious. “I wait nearly three damn months and you two didn’t even take _notes_?! You’re a goddamn explorer, Shiro, you’d think you’d have the good sense to use that damn field journal of yours! _Properly!_ ”

“You haven’t even seen what I wrote down—how do you know I took notes improperly?” he argued half-heartedly, because Pidge was on a rampage, throwing her hands up, clenching and unclenching her fists. It looked like she wanted to destroy something.

Keith was standing in the kitchen being scrutinized by Allura—or, more accurately, the drake was being scrutinized by her. Rover was in his arms, contently sleeping past Pidge’s tumult. Allura touched her finger gently to Rover’s small claws, and watched them curl in to a three-toed fist. “Do you still have the the dream pool?” she asked Keith absently.

He blinked at her, unsure what she was talking about, before realizing that it was still in existence. “I don’t think I moved it at all,” he admitted. “Why?”

“We can bring up your memories in it—dreams are very similar to memories, as you know,” she said, straightening up and turning to Pidge, who stood with her hands fisted in her hair, pulling dramatically at it. “It will be unclear, mostly, but Keith’s memory is rather distinct. We should be able to get something of the drake’s emergence.”

Pidge stared at her, and perhaps it was the night of no sleep, but Keith thought she looked insanely mad. “What?” she said.

“A dream pool is meant for interpreting dreams, but in this case we can use it to view Keith’s memory of the event with the drake,” Allura explained, and started off in the direction of Keith’s storage room. Aside from the nonperishable foods he preserved from the garden, there were items he kept stashed in there after Allura left. Most of them hadn’t been touched, so he wasn’t surprised to hear her complain about the dust build up.

The pool wasn’t exactly a pool. Instead, it was a bowl lined with faint markings and painted over with a white glaze. Allura set it on the counter and blew over it, releasing a cloud of dust into the air. Shiro and Pidge approached the counter, and Keith nudged Shiro’s side to get his attention. He passed the drake on to Shiro, so he could focus on the dream pool.

“You remember the words, correct?” Allura asked Keith, who nodded, resting his hands on either side of the bowl. 

“Just tell me when,” he said. After a few moments of patiently breathing, Allura gave him the go-ahead. The words, when they rolled off his tongue, came out in no more than a sharp whisper. The breath of it became visible, spilling over the lip of the bowl and swirling like water into the pool. He focused as well as he could on the event of the drake, and how they heard the popping noise. He could hear Shiro talking in the background, explaining the sound. The pool couldn’t reproduce the noises Keith heard.

As it came to the end of the memory, after Keith took the drake up in his arms where it then fell asleep, and he fell asleep against the side of the couch, Keith pried his hands up off the countertop and broke the connection.

He opened his eyes again and looked around at the eyes turning up from the dream pool. Keith glanced over at Shiro, who held the drake up to his chest with both hands. Pidge turned her gaze to it, and then up to Shiro’s face. “Can I hold it?” she asked.

“Sure. We decided her name is Rover,” he said, and Pidge floundered for a moment, her eyes widening. Her specs slid down her nose, her hands still partially raised to take up the drake. 

And then, her shocked expression turned incredulous. “You said you didn’t like that name,” she accused.

“I changed my mind.”

“Since when?”

“Since she looked more like a Rover than anything else,” he said, and gingerly held out his two hands. They were large enough to fit the entirety of the drake in them, its tale curled around Shiro’s thumb. “Are you going to hold it? Or should I keep it?”

“Give me it,” she ordered, pushing up her specs before taking up the drake. She meandered away from them, and took a seat among the sleeping arrangements in the living room, where the heat of the fire could reach them. 

Keith watched the entire interaction knowing that Allura was beaming with amusement. He glanced at her as Pidge walked away, and she turned to him expectantly. “Did you two find anything that could help?” he asked.

“We did,” she said. “But it’s nothing we can do here. Our best bet would be to get Shiro to a specialist who deals with exorcisms. You recall Nyma, from the city?” 

_Remember?_ Keith repeated, annoyed. Every time he went to the city with Allura, he was bombarded with dozens of new names and new faces he was bound to forget. There was no hope in remembering one face out of a hundred, especially if he only spoke to them for several minutes. Allura was always so sure his mind was as sharp as a pin, but she was also certain about his omniscience that was nonexistent.

“No,” he said finally, scowling at her. “What makes you think I’d remember them?”

“I introduced her to you when we visited the museum,” she said. “Nyma worked there for a brief period—she has blonde hair, loose clothes… the sort you see in the south where the free folk are…” She started swaying her hands, and surprisingly, it did wonders in triggering the memory of Nyma. 

“The hippie.”

“She is not a hippie.”

“‘Free folk’ is a synonym for hippie,” Keith insisted. “And anyway, you think she’d be able to help?”

“She’s performed hundreds of expulsion rituals,” Allura explained. “I’m certain she could assist with removing the galra.”

Keith was already charting the journey from here to the city. Whenever Pidge and Shiro discussed the plan on returning to Arus, Keith purposefully put his blinders on. But perhaps there was some truth to Allura’s theory, because Keith could still remember that their plan would take them about a day’s journey east of the city. 

“Where does she live?” he asked Allura, reaching for a pad of paper and a pen. 

“Hold on a second,” Shiro said, his hand going over the page, inhibiting Keith’s writing space. “Would it be safe for me to even _go_ to the city?”

“It’s our best bet at the moment,” Allura said, and proceeded to relay the address to Keith. He sat at the counter and wrote out a letter for Nyma, explaining the situation as Shiro and Allura discussed possibilities for a leaving date. Before the first snow, of course, which limited them to approximately a week. After that, there would be no avoiding the cold weather. “I could make a carrier for Rover—something that could keep her at the same temperature as Keith’s element,” she suggested. “It would only require he keep the carrier on him at all times.”

“So essentially I’ll be like a kangaroo? Carrying its baby around in a pouch? Isn’t that a sight to see?” Keith muttered, head down and pen scribbling. 

“Would you prefer she freeze?” Allura countered. “She’s a cold-blooded creature, Keith.”

He scowled up at her before returning his attention to the paper. Shiro brought over his backpack, and retracted a folded map from one of the slots within. He spread it out on the countertop and explained to Allura their future footsteps. Keith glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, and seemed to register his mentor’s impressment without even seeing it on her face. All of Shiro’s maps on Arus were hand-tailored, crafted with the precision all his expeditions were made with. 

It required that the map be taped to an existing map of Terra, and Bulmeria to the far east. There were penciled marks here and there, tracing where he and Pidge had gone with small, almost minuscule type tracking journal records to specific pages of his field notes. The date of arrival. The distance marked by the key in the far corner. It was no wonder Allura was impressed. This was Shiro’s entire life.

“We could make it to the city in a little over a week, if we travel fast,” Shiro explained. “We’ll most likely take horses—unless that isn’t advisable, considering the situation with animals.”

“It’s likely that contact isn’t the source of the possessed ravens or cats,” Allura said. “Pidge relayed most of her observations of your stay here. According to her, you never made contact with a black cat—and it seems like the galra aren’t linked to you specifically. They wander, correct?”

“Yes,” Keith answered.

“And the fact that Keith has seen them is also useful,” she added. “When I put up the barrier at the shop, I saw no evidence of them other than a faint impression—not quite to the extreme of Keith, being able to see their full forms and enter the abstract realm in which they reside. Again, another hint to your clairvoyance, omniscient qualities…”

“ _Allura_ ,” he complained, setting down the pen to glower at her. She raised her hands in surrender, but didn’t seem to completely drop the absurd notion. “Besides, you are clearly far more prone to omniscient inclinations than _I am_. You _knew_ something was wrong—how could you not be able to see them?”

“I admit, omniscience is different from clairvoyance in that I may _know_ things, but I can’t _see_ them like you can.”

“ _Allura,_ stop accusing me of—” Keith stopped, feeling Shiro’s hand weigh down on his arm and reel him back in. He saw the warning look on Shiro’s face, and sat down with a huff, pointedly ignoring the look Allura was giving him in addition to Shiro’s disapproval. “In any case, I can’t interact with them clearly in their realm. They can’t even seem to speak, let alone provide answers. But they know far more than we do. So far I’ve only ever been able to contact their realm through omens.”

“Such as?” Allura inquired.

“Three owl shrieks brought up the first encounter,” he explained, “and then the black cat, which just so happened to be the animal the galra inhabited.”

“I feel you and Nyma will get on well,” she mused aloud, causing Keith to stammer and resist the urge to pout like a child, since that seemed to be how she was treating him. She didn’t even see his irritated expression, because she moved the discussion back to the map.

Keith growled under his breath, returning to the letter and signing it before folding it up into a small, compact roll with a black ribbon tied around the middle. He left the counter and went out to the backyard, where he hurried to the raven shed and tossed in seed for the birds as they clucked and croaked at him excitedly. 

He clicked his tongue melodically as he walked the row of cages. Half of them were empty—and the one he called for didn’t return for some time. He waited five minutes before the heavy black raven dropped into the cage at the end, and hopped to the door. Keith opened it up and clicked at it, holding out his arm. 

This particular raven was at its full size—nearly the size of Keith’s upper torso. So when it hopped onto his arm and clung to his wrist, he could feel its weight clinging to him. He reached into his pocket, and instantly the raven was alert.

It twisted its head at him, tilting its beak and letting out an excited croak. He chuckled at it and said, “What’s your name?”

It studied him for a moment longer, tweaking its beak to the side before saying, “Pilot.”

“Good, Pilot,” he praised, and held out a treat for the raven. “Would you do me a favor?” Pilot pecked its beak in the direction of Keith’s pocket. “Uh-uh, you have to answer first.”

The raven named Pilot bleated before saying, “Yes.” Keith rewarded it with another treat before holding up the letter. 

Pilot hopped back into the cage and held out its leg, allowing Keith to tie the letter to its ankle with a soft black ribbon. As he did so, he murmured the instructions to it, a small spell he learned that made a messenger pigeon out of any aviary creature. Pilot repeated its name again, and Keith laughed a little, offering it another treat before rubbing his knuckle against its side feathers. “Good, Pilot. Stay safe, all right?”

“Yes.”

Keith saw Pilot off, and stepped out of the shed to see the raven coast over the pine trees and out of sight, heading south in the direction of the city. Before leaving the shed completely, he returned to the cages and opened the cage holding the newer ravens. He wouldn’t have time to train them before leaving with Shiro, Pidge, and Lance.

He kept the back doors unlocked for them, though. The winters could get rough, and most of the time he found the ravens in here in the winter making their nests. He wouldn’t be surprised to find the newer ones making the raven shed their home.

They hopped out after Keith and fluttered through the open door, pouncing on the ground and hopping with vigor. A few pecked at his shoes, which made it difficult for him to walk back to the house. He jumped around them, arms flailing as he managed to avoid stepping on their delicate feathers. 

“I’ve never seen anything quite as amusing as this.” 

Keith’s attention perked up, and he found Pidge smirking from the other side of the screen door. He settled both his feet on the ground, ignoring the raven that took up off the ground and clung to his shoulder, talons sinking into his back. “You didn’t see anything, got it?” Keith threatened, and the only response he received was another smug look before she started closing the heavy wooden door with her foot. 

“ _Pidge!_ ” 


	11. { the responsibility }

In an attempt to test the accuracy of messenger ravens, Keith sent out a test message to town. It left in the form of a prank-hexed letter that, upon the moment of reception, the letter would burst into flame and give the effect of a fire consuming the victim’s hand. No more than thirty minutes later, Keith snickered at the sound of an angry fist preparing to punch a whole through his front door. 

Alarmed, Shiro went to answer the knocking. On the other side, Lance stood, fuming, and holding out his hand that appeared to be transformed into a human torch. It was all Keith could do to keep from laughing his ass off. It wasn’t as if Lance never pulled tricks on Keith—just the other week Lance was preparing to curse Hunk with the perpetual sound of mosquitos around his head.

“You are such a child,” Lance accused, stomping into the room while flapping his hand about. The flames didn’t diminish in the slightest. Behind him, Keith observed Hunk standing on the porch. The big man nodded to Shiro and they murmured pleasant greetings to one another before Hunk at last stepped foot into Keith’s home.

Pidge peered over the edge of the coffee table in the living room. Up until that point, she’d been laying at the hearth with Rover perched on her chest, just barely awake and chewing on a chip.

“Get this damn thing off of me,” Lance demanded, his hand darting out to Keith.

“You’re a sorcerer—you can get rid of it yourself. Consider this a test.”

“Fire isn’t exactly my _element_ now _is it?_ ” Lance hissed, waving his arm where all of his marks clearly screamed his natural element. “Water doesn’t even get rid of it!” 

“You aren’t using water correctly then,” Keith snapped. “It takes more than just running your arm under a faucet.”

Lance gave Keith a desperate look before turning it to Allura, as though just remembering he had more options now for help involving magick. She was lounging calmly in the living room atop one of Keith’s sitting pillows, examining the remainder of the drake egg. She peered up from it, sensing that her attention was wanted, and she seemed unfazed by the fire enveloping Lance’s arm. 

“I trust Keith’s teaching capabilities,” she replied. “Do as he says, Lance.”

It was such high praise, Keith found himself beaming, even as Lance glared at him. He continued to glower at Keith as he marched over to the sink basin and shoved a bucket under the faucet.

As Lance collected water and shoved his arm into the bucket, Hunk had discovered the drake in the living room. Keith turned to find him crouched beside Pidge, speechless and gaping at the sight of the drake with her tail curled around Pidge’s fingers. Since the morning Pidge and Allura returned, Keith spent enough time around the drake to know that as she munched on eggshell chips, she would inadvertently purr and mumble as she chewed. Pidge found it adorable, and as did Keith—but he never vocalized it.

“I-Is this real?” Hunk stammered, laying down to get to eye level with Rover. “Is this thing really alive?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Pidge answered.

“Unbelievable. This is—I thought you guys were kidding,” he confessed, gawking at the small beast. Keith came over to the single couch in the living room and sat alongside Shiro, watching as Rover’s multiple eyelids blinked and turned to look at Hunk. Her snout was still small, but sharp at the end, and her two nostril holes wriggled about, sniffing at him before dropping her three-toed paws. She had the stance of a squirrel when she ate. 

It took several hours of being awake for Rover to truly start moving around. At first she lumbered some, limbs still weak and unexercised, but now she coiled down Pidge’s side and scurried like some small rodent on the move. She scrambled over Hunk’s arm, causing him to shriek aloud, before she stopped at his hand, sat on it, and breathed in and out heavily. Keith could see the steam forming around her mouth like breath in cold air.

“She’s a lot more active now,” Pidge commented, sitting up a little as Hunk let out a nervous laugh. 

“Does anyone else see the steam?” he asked. “Because I _really_ don’t want to be burnt to a crisp today.”

“I have a theory that when she’s excited, her heat element overreacts,” Pidge explained. “I don’t know what to call it, since there aren’t any fire-breathing creatures around anymore—at least, as far as I know. And not even all dragons can breathe fire.”

“What about dragons?” Lance called out from the kitchen, still elbow-deep in a barrel of water. “Did it hatch? Did I miss it? Wait a minute—dammit!” Keith winced at the sound of water sloshing into the basin, and the bucket spiraling against the rim. 

Lance nearly tripped over himself getting to the living room, and sliding in beside Pidge and Hunk to see how Rover examined Hunk’s chin and huffed steam against it. Keith could tell just how terrified the man was of having his skin scorched.

He was acutely aware of the soft texture of Shiro’s tanned skin touching his hand. He found Shiro’s fingers intertwining theirs together, and found himself leaning in against Shiro’s shoulder. A faint smile pulled at Keith’s lips as he leant his head against Shiro, and watched Lance attempt, unsuccessfully, to pick up Rover. The small drake would have none of him, and slipped out of his hands at every chance before coiling around Hunk’s arms. 

Lance gave up and sat back on his heels, looking over to where Keith was. “Does this mean…? We’re leaving?” he said, and Keith nodded. 

“In a week. We can’t wait much longer than that,” he said.

“What about the shop? And the house?” Lance said, gesturing his hands around the open space of the living room. “It’s not like there are any other doctors around here.”

“And that is precisely why I will be here until further notice,” Allura said, looking up at him before adding, “Shiro, Keith, and I already discussed it. I’ll reclaim ownership of the shop.”

“So that’s it then?” he said, patting his hands on his lap. “We just pick up and leave and that’s it.”

“That’s it,” Keith agreed. “You want to see the route we’re taking?” Lance seemed less than thrilled about the news of their departure, but after a moment of debating it in his head, he nodded in agreement. Shiro pulled away from Keith for the time it took to reach into his backpack and pull out the folded map for Lance. The kid spread it out on the coffee table near where Allura sat with the drake egg. She was taking bits of it and inserting them into a small vial. 

“Allura and I marked the route in red ink,” Shiro told Lance as he settled back against the cushions and held on to Keith’s hand once more. 

Later that night, when they finished discussing the details of the trip, Lance and Hunk prepared to depart before dinner. As they got up to leave, Rover remained fastened to Hunk’s wrist, even as Keith attempted to pry the little drake’s talons off. It just seemed to make the drake cling on tighter. “I really don’t want to hurt it,” Hunk said nervously, pinching his lip with his free hand as Keith tugged at Rover’s midsection to no avail. 

“You’ll have to try yourself,” he suggested, and waited with his hands partially held out to catch Rover in case she fell. Hunk successfully tugged Rover free and deposited her into Keith’s waiting hands, but the second Hunk started walking off, Keith’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest when Rover lunged off his hands as if to fly.

Her wings weren’t quite developed yet, but before she could plummet, Keith swept his hands up and held her still in the air. She was breathing hard, claws clenched. Her wide, baby eyes were staring directly at Hunk, who looked about ready to cry.

“Aw, she likes you,” Pidge cooed. “She even sacrificed her small infant body.”

“Be lucky a sorcerer was around,” Shiro muttered from the side. Keith didn’t even want to think about what could have happened to Rover had he let her just simply drop to the floor. He couldn’t believe how hard his heart was pounding against his chest as he gathered up Rover into his arms and held her firmly to his chest despite the struggle she made watching Hunk and Lance depart.

A hissing sound escaped through her nostrils, and it came out as a pant, and then a long, shrill whine. It took hours for Rover to calm down enough to even consider falling asleep, and during that entire time Keith, Pidge, and Shiro took turns holding her and feeding her bits of egg shell. She seemed to lose her appetite. 

“Well, it is the first time anyone she’s met has left,” Pidge offered. “But you’d think effects of abandonment would come from _everyone_ leaving her at once.”

The whines had turned to loud, quick exhales of steamy breaths through Rover’s nostrils. Keith debated using a sleeping spell on her, but after recommending it to Allura, she gave him an uncertain look and said that the side effects of spells are often different between species. 

Seeing Rover all panicked really tore at Keith’s chest. He had a soft spot for animals, hence the collection of ravens in his back yard. He’d taken in orphaned animals—once Shiro gave him crap for taking in an abandoned pup Keith found by the well. It wasn’t like he kept all of the animals he brought in—he raised them up to survive on their own in the wild. He provided a home for the ravens in the winter. He came to understand that animals were meant to be independent, but Rover required a bit more care. She required parents, like any human child.

That night after Rover finally quieted enough to sleep, Allura took the vial of egg shell remnants and bid them goodnight. She left for the shop, where she would sleep for the night before taking inventory in the morning. “And Pidge,” she added as a side note, door partially open, “I’d love another pot of tea tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pidge replied, saluting her before dropping her hand with a sigh. “I’m beat. See you two tomorrow—you’ll find me under a mound of blankets.”

As she meandered to the living room, Shiro rubbed his hand over her head in passing before approaching Keith, who had Rover clinging to his knitted sweater. He rubbed his finger over the ridges of Rover’s spine before combing his fingers through Keith’s mess of hair. “Do you want me to take her? I’ll sleep close to the fire if that’s the case.”

“I can hang on to her,” Keith answered. “Besides, I have to get used to it anyway, considering I’ll be her only heat source next week.” He said it sarcastically, but the knowledge of it weighed on them. Keith would essentially be the one keeping Rover alive for the next few weeks whether he liked it or not. He was indifferent to it now.

Shiro rubbed his thumb across Keith’s cheek before leaning in and kissing his forehead. “Holler if you want to switch places. I really don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Keith murmured before they split apart and Shiro returned to the living room. Keith watched him for a moment before turning and heading for the bedroom. 

Their sleeping arrangements involved that Keith remain still for most of the night to avoid jostling Rover. The small dragon was quick to curl up between his chin and neck for the brief moment she spent with her eyes open. Her soft flesh underneath her chin and belly curled over Keith’s neck, and they both fell asleep with little difficulty. 

After several hours he woke up to her talons pricking his shoulder, and the quick panting of her panicked breaths. He took a chip of egg shell from his pant pocket and urged her to eat it before soothingly rubbing his fingers down her spine, and under the slots of webbed spikes around her cheeks. She huffed at him, and he imagined she was pouting. He touched their noses together and, after a moment, huffed out through his nostrils so a illusion of steam bloomed from them. Rover’s wide curious eyes studied him, and her panicked breaths lessened. She calmed, and curled against him to sleep again.

  


  


The next day Hunk came to visit, coaxing Keith to let him in by flashing a bag of fresh pastry rolls. Allura was with him, stating that she had Lance cleaning up the shop before allowing him anywhere near Rover. “I made a mess last night making draughts,” she explained as she stepped over the threshold. There was a folded napkin in her hand, containing a half-eaten croissant.

Hunk approached Keith instantly, where Rover blinked owlishly at him before seeming to recognize that goofy smile on the big man’s face. Before Keith could stop her, she lunged from his shoulder and latched instantly onto Hunk’s coat, claws gripping tightly to the fabric. He shouted in surprise, and Keith felt that same lurching feeling in his chest at the sight of Rover leaping through the air like that.

“Aw, she doesn’t do that to me,” Pidge whined. “And I picked her name, too!”

“She does seem to adore Hunk,” Allura commented, walking around Keith with a hum of amusement. His eyes followed her suspiciously before turning back to Hunk, who now had Rover sat on his shoulder, perked up and flared spikes spread wide over the top of her head. She sniffed Hunk’s hair and nibbled gently at his ear. He giggled and innocently swatted at her. 

“Stop it, that tickles,” he said.

“She must be hungry,” Keith commented. “You can feed her shell scraps over by the coffee table.”

Hunk ended up spending nearly the entire day at Keith’s house when normally Keith only ever saw him on the rare occasion he went to the bakery. It was weird how content he was just having Rover sitting on his chest all day. She barely even moved from her spot until eventually Lance came to fetch him and bring him back to the bakery he neglected all day. “Come on—I saw some kids waiting outside your place for half an hour.”

Hunk frowned up at him, his hands placed protectively over Rover. “Can I take her with?”

“No, she needs Keith. Come on—up, up, up,” Lance insisted, and helped Hunk stand by yanking on one of his hands. With the other, Hunk held onto Rover before reluctantly transferring her into Keith’s custody. 

Almost instantly she was in a tizzy. Keith was so shocked by her enraged cry that he nearly dropped her. She screeched the entire time she watched Hunk disappear out the door with Lance. It sounded almost like nails against a chalkboard, and it grated against Keith’s eardrums like nothing else. Over the noise Shiro shouted something about how dragons would use this sound to warn the rest of their group.

“How long does it go on for?!” Keith shouted back, only to receive a shrug in response. Shiro had his hands over his ears as he did so. 

That night, after the shrieking diminished to panicked panting, Rover turned a sickly shade of white. The yellowish-pink color of her faint scales all of a sudden washed over into a colorless mess. She wasn’t cold, and Pidge claimed she wasn’t sick. “It must be a new mechanism of hers. Changing colors like a chameleon.”

“Have you heard of that before?” Keith asked.

“Sure. Lots of dragons have that capability,” she explained. “It really depends on the species.”

Unlike the previous night, Rover refused to sleep. Keith laid with Shiro and Pidge in the living room until he couldn’t stand the constant whines from the drake. “I had her last night—you two can deal with it,” he said, and Pidge groaned into her pillow as Shiro sat up, watching Keith step over his legs in the process.

“You’re the worst mom ever,” Pidge whined. 

“That’s sexist and even if I agreed to babying a fucking dragon I seriously didn’t sign up for it,” he argued, and glared at them both as if challenging them to argue against it. “Remember how this was dumped on me—you two found the damn thing in the first place.”

“I know—I don’t expect you to take full responsibility,” Shiro said. “Get some sleep—we’ll take care of her.”

Keith scowled at him for a moment longer, aggravated that Shiro so easily gave in. He had to remember that this was the sort of thing Shiro did—tried to avoid Keith’s rage. He figured that was fair enough, considering he could hear the distant rattling of trinkets being shifted on the shelving unit nearby.

“Fine,” he huffed, and turned on his heels. He marched to his room, and before slamming the door, he leaned out of the frame to point a finger at Pidge and say, “And _don’t_ call me the worst mom ever again, got it?”

She groaned, and he saw her head disappear behind the coffee table as she flopped back down. “Yes, mom,” she said.

  


  


Keith had two backpacks suitable for long hikes, so he lent one to Lance the following day. After the time they organized Keith’s bedroom, Shiro came across two bed pads that they divvied up. “Once you roll it up and cover it, strap it on top of the backpack,” he explained to Lance, and demonstrated with his own backpack. Lance scowled the entire time, and Keith found himself wondering just what was on his mind. 

That day Hunk didn’t visit right away, but when Lance arrived Rover went into a tizzy. She managed to weasel her way out of Pidge’s arms and across the entire house. Pidge shouted, “Don’t move! You might step on her!” and instantly everyone froze, looking around for the streak of white sprinting across the floorboards.

She lunged for Lance’s legs and he shrieked as her claws dug into the fabric when she began climbing up his pant leg. She slithered under his coat and reappeared at his collarbone. The entire time Lance squirmed about, shouting, “It feels like a snake! Oh my gods—get her out! _Get her out!_ ”

Rover barely resisted when Keith plucked her from Lance’s shoulder. He could feel her lungs working like crazy, heartbeat pulsing against his fingers. Steam clouded around her nostrils, and seconds before, Keith said, “Cover your ears!” 

Everyone slapped their hands over their ears before Rover released a shrill, heartbreaking cry. Lance’s eyes were wide, wincing, and looking between everyone in the room as if to say, “What the hell happened?!”

Thankfully, it didn’t take as long for Rover to recover. Eventually they were all able to lower their hands, and instantly Lance said, “What was that for?”

Keith cringed a little, looking at Shiro, who sighed and said, “We suspect she’s attached to Hunk. She probably thought you were Hunk when you came in.”

Lance looked shocked to say the least before taking in all of their expressions. Their tired, bloodshot eyes and clear lack of sleep. “You all look like _shit_ , and usually I just say that to Keith.”

Already irritable, Keith snapped his fingers up and the hem of Lance’s shirt bunched up underneath his jacket, rising up to his collarbone. He shouted in annoyance, swearing under his breath as he frantically tried to tug it back down.

“It was… a rough night,” Shiro explained. “But we’ll manage.”

Later that day when they finished putting together a list of items they would need to divvy up between the packs, a knock sounded on their door. On the other side, Allura stood smiling, carrying a heavy rucksack of supplies and medicines for them. Behind her, was Hunk, with an offering of biscotti treats and the makings for coffee. 

“I came to see Rover!” he announced. “And also bring these snacks over for you guys.”

At the time Keith was at the counter with Rover, and as soon as Hunk entered, he swept Rover up off the counter to avoid another incident of her spontaneous leaps of faith. She squirmed in his hands, staring intently as Hunk came through, crouching down to her eye level with a cartoonish look on his face. He set the bag on the counter, where Pidge instantly dove inside and fished out the treats. Hunk slowly, tantalizingly, reached his hands for Rover, who was in such a fuss, and the vigor with which she squirmed only increased with every passing second Hunk took to reach her.

At last he snatched her up, and Keith let out a sigh of relief. He was on edge all day over keeping Rover happy and eating. She was still deathly white, and for a while Keith didn’t pay attention to it until an hour later when he finished his coffee and saw that Rover’s color returned with even more vibrance. There was hardly a touch of pink or white on her now. 

Keith gently nudged Shiro’s arm to get his attention. “Do you see Rover now?” he whispered, and then Shiro’s eyes flickered over to where Hunk stood at the counter laughing at something Lance said, Rover perched on his shoulder. 

Shiro turned back to Keith. “What do you make of it?”

He frowned at Rover as if she betrayed him. Wasn’t _he_ supposed to be in charge of the drake? And yet she seemed to be picking favorites, and Keith wasn’t at the top of her list anymore. “You’re the dragon expert here,” he said at last.

“You’re jealous,” Shiro said, voice hushed as he leaned in to smirk at Keith. His scowl only increased as he turned his eyes on Shiro. Their noses were practically touching. “So we’re thinking the same thing then, if that is the case.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed.

“That Rover picked Hunk as her primary parent,” Shiro said. “Drakes depend on their mothers for several months, until they are capable of flying and hunting on their own. And even then they stick with the family.”

“But—” Keith started, and checked his voice quickly, leaning in to whisper harshly into Shiro’s ear, “we _can’t take Hunk with us_.”

He shrugged, hands turning out as if to say, “What can I do about it?” Keith groaned, rolling his eyes away from Shiro. “It’s not the _worst_ thing that could possibly happen. The least we can do is ask if he’d want to come.”

“He has a _business—_ ”

“What are you two talking about over there?” Pidge blurted out loudly, obnoxiously, and elicited a bitter look from Keith in response. Allura, Lance, and Hunk all turned in their direction. Shiro donned a trapped look, but recovered enough to clear his throat and answer.

“We were just noting the fact that Rover’s color came back,” he said, and instantly Keith slapped his hand to his own forehead. It wasn’t that Keith disliked Hunk, but in the end Keith couldn’t help but think about how he’d have to live with not only Lance, but Hunk as well if that was the case.

Besides, Hunk had a business. He was the sole owner of the bakery, as far as Keith knew. He couldn’t pick up and leave like Keith could. But the town could always find a new doctor and baker, he supposed.

Pidge looked to Rover then. Rover’s webbed spikes were lively now, perked up along with her excited golden eyes. It took little less than a second for Pidge to register what, exactly, they had been discussing. She looked to Shiro with wide eyes, which then swiftly narrowed as if to say, “You can’t be serious.”

“Yeah, I noticed she was a bit pale when we came in,” Hunk commented, and reached his thumb up to rub against Rover’s side. “Has she been eating enough?”

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” Pidge said slowly. “She’s definitely _way_ more attached to you than us.”

“A lot of juvenile animals attach themselves to a parent figure,” Shiro explains, and gestured to Rover. “She seems to have done that with you.”

Hunk smiled a little, turning his head to see the edge of Rover’s tail flick up around his wrist. Keith attributed the way Rover pranced around excitedly to the way dogs get when they find their owners returning home from a long day at work. “Well, I’m glad I could help out,” he said, voice turning into an affectionate coo that excited Rover tremendously. “Yeah, I like you too, _I like you too!_ ”

“No, that _isn’t_ good,” Pidge stressed, sitting up a little straighter as she laid a hand out on the table. “It’s not like you can come _with us_ to baby Rover. She needs a parent for at least the first three months, and even then it’s not as if she’ll just fly away and not return—it makes me think that even if we did separate the two of you, she’d come flying back the second she’s able to.”

“Dragons have a memory akin to elephants, or humans, really,” Shiro explained. “Except unlike human children, they remember everything from their childhood.”

Hunk’s excitement faded with each passing word, and he dropped his hand from his shoulder after a moment. “So what you’re saying is… that Rover won’t be happy unless I’m there,” he said, and both Shiro and Pidge nodded resentfully. Hunk turned his gaze down to the floor before saying, voice attempting to sound optimistic, “But the chances that she’d come flying back are rare, right? It’s not like she’d be able to _know_ how to get back here—and anyway, aren’t all of you her parents? You’ll all be taking care of her—”

“A parent isn’t necessarily someone who takes care of their offspring,” Keith said. “It’s whomever the child deems a reasonable father- or mother-figure. Some offspring stick with their parents despite not being nurtured, protected, or loved by them.”

“But that’s awful!” Hunk argued. “Rover shouldn’t need me—she has you guys!”

“It’s the way animals work,” Shiro said. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Hunk stared at them, crushed by the news. It wasn’t like Hunk maliciously sought to plunge Rover into the depressive state Keith and the others experienced every time he left Rover. He didn’t _mean_ to cause her emotional stress. “Do you think…” he started, and looking sparingly at Lance as he did so. “Do you think it’d be possible for me to come with you guys? For Rover’s sake?”

“Seriously?” Lance said. “You want to come with?” 

“Well—I mean, it wasn’t exactly on my _mind_ until now but… Rover seems like a really big deal. This is _insane_ , bringing back dragons and all and it’d be cool to be apart of it. And it’s not like I signed up to raise dragons—I signed up to bake and make food but I could always do both,” Hunk said, talking fast and rambling nervously as he saw the looks Keith, Shiro, and Pidge were giving him. Allura stood on the sidelines absently sipping her coffee as if this was a normal day in her household. 

“What about your shop?” Lance asked. “You can’t close it—and everyone _loves_ having you here.”

“Honestly, I figured I can put something together in the—what? next week? It’s a short timeframe but I could find someone to manage it. There’s an apprentice in the town next over who might be interested in owning their own place. But that’s only if you’d want me to come along. It’s just an idea, honestly—if it’s not in the cards then that’s totally cool I don’t mind, really.” 

As he went on rambling, Rover started clawing through his hair and climbing to the top of his head. Keith was certain all of their attention was focused on her rather than what Hunk was saying, because as Rover perched herself at the pinnacle of Hunk’s frame, she circled around and plopped down, as if preparing a nest. By the end of it, Keith returned to the task at hand when Hunk said, “—So what do you say?”

“Uh…” he hummed, and pursed his lips before he could say anything stupid. He looked at Shiro, who seemed to be in the same mindset. But thankfully, he knew what to say in the end.

“We’d be happy to have you with us, but we don’t want you sacrificing your livelihood for this,” he said.

“But if Keith and Lance will be living in a village, I’m sure there’s a way for me to start up a new bakery,” Hunk said. “I helped a lot with the making of the stoves and such—I would just need the materials and such. It’d take a while, but I could make it work.”

“So you’re coming with us?” Pidge said, sounding just as shocked as Keith felt. Hunk looked unsure about it himself until Lance pat his hand against his arm and offered an encouraging smile.

Hunk huffed out his doubts and replaced them with a smile. “Yeah, count me in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! I'd love to hear your thoughts :)


	12. { the travelers }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't plan on making this a _Lord of the Rings_ type thing where I focus five entire chapters on the journey from Keith's town to the city, so EXPECT HUGE JUMPS not everything happens in one day.

“I’m not certain when we’ll ever see each other again,” Allura said to Keith as he picked up the coat lying on bed. It was black and had the style of a cape—the one he used as a means of transportation on occasion. As he slipped his arms through the sleeves, he found a package thrust over to him, and he hesitantly took it. “Consider this a parting gift. I never gave you one the first time around—it didn’t seem necessary.”

“It wasn’t necessary, and it still isn’t,” Keith said, looking up to her. He was surprised to find her cheeks dusted with pink. “What is it?”

“Open it when you need to—not now. It should help, with getting yourself situated in Arus,” she said, and with a smile added, “It’s something I, myself, used for a while after I left you on your own.”

Keith merely pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at her. If he knew anything about her warnings stating “not now”, it was that he didn’t want anything exploding indoors. His response seemed to be the exact one she was hoping for, because she beamed at him as if there wasn’t anything wrong. Except, _oh yeah_ , he might be holding an _explosive in his hands_. 

“Well… do you want a hug?”

“I don’t hug.”

“I knew you wanted a hug,” she cooed, throwing her arms up and around him. His chin bumped against her shoulder, and he couldn’t do much else other than let it happen. She was swinging him back and forth, though both of their feet were still on the ground. “Stay safe and remember not to shoot the sparrows.”

“I never have and I never will,” he mumbled against her scarf before suddenly being thrust away from her and set on the track to leaving the town he called home.

They all waved their goodbyes to Allura after she had a chat with Lance. She sent them on their way, waving enthusiastically until she dropped her arms and turned back to the house. Keith swore he heard her muttering about getting the place back in order. They were far enough away that the others didn’t hear it, but he did, so he turned around and shouted, “ _I heard that!_ ”

Faintly, they heard a shout from the doorway, “ _You weren’t supposed to!_ ”

As they walked, Pidge urged Hunk to give up the right to hold Rover. Despite his protests, she demanded Lance for the temperature.

Lance licked his finger and held it to the wind. “Damn near freezing,” he said. “Sorry Hunk.”

Keith stopped walking so a pouting Hunk could open the hatch to the traveling cage attached to Keith’s back. Keith’s satchel held most of his necessities, so that his backpack could be hollowed out to fit Rover during the walk. Hunk fastened the top and buttoned Keith’s backpack closed. 

They planned a ride with a traveling merchant several days prior, who was passing by on his way south. They hitched onto the back of his wagon in the town over and remained there until their roads diverged the following day. All along the way, Keith’s eyes followed the black specks that wove in and out of the trees, or the low clouds in the fog. The ravens were following him.

It didn’t take long for Lance to start complaining about the weight of his backpack, and it also didn’t take long for Hunk to offer carrying it. Keith saw Pidge rolling her eyes off to the side, and looking pointedly at Shiro; he pretended like he didn’t notice. 

There was one night where they couldn’t reach the next town before they exhausted themselves. Keith was prepared for it, and after scavenging for an appropriate sleeping spot, he melted the frost and snow that was beginning to accumulate. After a moment, when the ground was dry, he sat cross legged and encouraged everyone to gather around him. He tossed up the protective bubble around them, and as he did so, a shimmer of ashy smoke followed the galra that lingered around them. He then projected a heated atmosphere, and in a matter of minutes it began to feel like the inside of a greenhouse. 

“That was so cool,” Hunk said, staring up at the roof of the bubble. It wasn’t visible, but with the soft flakes of snow falling, they could see the specks of white melt on impact, and slide down the edges in slushy streaks. 

“I’m impressed,” Pidge agreed. “And also tired. Shiro, do you think I could snack on something?” 

“Sure.” He pulled his backpack in front of him and reached into a flap on the side. He passed out granola bars, and removed a container from another pouch. “You want to give one to Rover?” he asked Keith, passing him the small shell of a nut.

They still had some of the egg left for Rover, but Shiro recommended that they start incorporating nuts into the drake’s diet, to make the transition easy. So Keith unzipped his backpack and unlatched the cage. Rover climbed the wire frame and emerged, huffing as she attempted to jump from the backpack, only to be caught by Hunk’s waiting hands. 

Rover nibbled on the nut shell as Keith rolled out his bed mat and laid on his back, staring at the pine needles stretching overhead. It was dark now, and their small bubble glowed faintly from a sphere of light Keith let hover at the top. After a little while, Shiro rolled out his mat beside Keith’s, a few inches away, and sat with his legs partially crossed.

Lance let out an excited gasp and swung his backpack around, rifling through the contents. “Hang on—I picked up something from the last town,” he said.

“Please tell me it’s not another pet,” Pidge whined, flopping back onto her bed mat.

“ _Better_ ,” Lance grinned, and lifted something from between the folds of clothes and bags within his backpack. Keith recognized the neck of a bottle, and groaned, eliciting a scowl from Lance. “Come on, when’s the last time you drank?”

“There’s a reason I don’t drink, Lance,” Keith said. 

“Okay, well, this isn’t the hard liquor you’re probably used to, so…” he drawled, grinning cheekily at Keith as he waved the bottle around. “A game of truth?” he suggested.

“Truth?” Shiro repeated, pushing a hand at Keith when he made an attempt to oppose it. “What are the rules of the game?”

“We each have a glass, and we go around saying something we _haven’t_ done, and anyone who _has_ done it has to take a drink. Keith and I played it a while back, but it was only for a few minutes before he quit,” Lance explained. “Which means we can add magic to it! Keith has a truth spell he can put on us, and if anyone lies your eyes glow, which just makes it even more ridiculous.”

“I’m down,” Pidge said, sitting up straighter. Lance let out an excited yelp and dug through his bag for the cups. Hunk pitched in, and as a matter of default, Keith joined once Shiro did. Lance ordered Keith to say the spell, and once that was done, Lance passed out cups of alcohol and set the bottle aside. 

“You don’t have to drink the whole thing—just a sip,” he reiterated, and hummed thoughtfully. “Okay: I have never been to Arus.”

Pidge growled at him and took a sip from her cup, gesturing for Shiro to do the same. “I’ll go,” Shiro said afterwards. “I have never worn shorts.”

“ _What?_ ” Hunk shouted, looking to Pidge for clarification.

She shrugged and took a drink. “The man is immune to heat,” she said. 

As they all took a sip from their cups, Hunk hummed, signally that it was his turn. “I have… never ate eel.”

“Ew, that just _sounds_ gross,” Lance said, shuttering. Shiro took a drink, and a moment later Pidge yelped and started giggling, pointing at Keith. Lance snorted and said, “Why would you lie about eating _eel?_ ” 

“Hm?” Keith said, and instantly remembered the glowing eye situation. He blushed a little and took a sip from his cup to subdue the glowing. “I forgot I guess. My turn then? I have never… ever… been able to knot a cherry stem with my tongue.”

“You’re targeting me, aren’t you?” Shiro whined, taking yet another sip as Hunk did the same. “You or me?” he asked Hunk, who shrugged and gestured to Shiro. “All right. Never have I ever met my grandparents.”

Keith didn’t drink while the rest did, and Pidge leapt to the chase with the next test. They continued circling with drinking game until the weariness of traveling made itself present. It started with Hunk, who laid back on his mat with Rover curled up around his neck. Eventually, the spell would wear off, and it was already rather faint when Pidge lied about having wet the bed as a child.

“I suppose we could call it quits for tonight,” he said with a sigh, and Lance moaned, collapsing back with an annoyed huff. He downed the rest of his cup when Keith and Pidge agreed to end the game.

“One more! One more and I swear that’s it—I just want to know,” Lance exclaimed, his words a mere slur.

“Nope. No more,” Keith said, shaking his finger at Lance who held up his, slowly rising with it until he was slouched in a sitting position.

“Never have I ever…” he started shrilly, eyes closed until his head dropped and his eyes linked with Keith, “had sex with Shiro.”

Keith clamped his mouth shut and glared ruthlessly at Lance, only to realize that would be a dead giveaway to the answer. The effect on his eyes was faint, but it was enough for Lance to yelp in excitement and fling himself back on the mat. “I knew it! I knew it!”

“Lance you saucy devil,” Pidge said from the side, smirking at Shiro and Keith as Keith unsuccessfully tried to quell the heat boiling in his face. It was a mixture of embarrassment and unadulterated fury that fueled it, and the stunt he pulled next. With a fling of his hands Lance’s entire mat flipped up, bringing him with it, and rolling him back with a scream of shock. He flopped onto his stomach and scrambled up to his knees, glowering at Keith.

“Never have I ever—” Keith blurted, but “ _had sex with Hunk”_ was caught in his throat when Shiro jerked his arm, ordering him to stop. 

“Don’t, Keith,” he warned. “That’s enough. And Lance, that was inappropriate.”

Lance’s lips puckered and he deflated against his wrinkled bed mat. With a groan he said, “Sorry Shiro.”

“And?”

“Sorry Keith.”

Shiro gestured between them, and Keith refused to reciprocate until Shiro nudged him in the arm. “I am not apologizing for flipping Lance around like a rag doll,” he said. “It was funny and amusing and he deserved it for being an asshat.”

“ _Keeeith_ ,” Lance whined, but Shiro sighed and let it go. Keith suspected that Shiro was thankful of him for flipping Lance over. 

  


  


When the group woke in the morning, it was chillier in their bubble than before. Hunk packed Rover away in Keith’s backpack and they were off, regardless of the tight aching in their legs. Keith felt the weight of Rover and his cage pressing into his spine the longer he kept walking, but he didn’t complain. After maintaining the bubble for as long as he did, Keith was worn out of magick. It would take more than a small dip of magick to take the weight off his shoulders. 

They came through the forest and to a route of paths creating a patchwork of fields that disappeared off into the horizon. There were dry brown stubs where cornstalks once sat, and as they started their trek over the dirt trails, a flurry of black birds took to the sky and landed in a crowd among the tillage. A few ravens stopped up ahead to peck at something on the side of the road, and as they passed, Keith noted the dead cat partially in the field, its back legs and intestines spilling onto the dirt path. They mostly turned their eyes away from it, but the smell was obvious.

“Remember not to touch any animals, even dead,” Keith warned as he fell in step with Pidge and readjusted the straps of his backpack. “Performing an exorcism at this point would put me damn near empty.”

“I could perform one,” Lance suggested, and looked back to find Keith giving him a deadpan stare. “What? I could.”

“Not likely,” Keith said. “It is an incredibly delicate science. Anything dealing with humans is, even small tricks like turning your arm into a human torch. I could have easily turned your skin to a crisp if small details like pronunciation were wrong.”

“Oh, and I’m just guessing here, but you were completely willing to _sacrifice my arm for the sake of a joke_?!” Lance cried out. “Some teacher you are!”

Keith stuck his tongue out at Lance before Shiro intercepted them, pushing a hand to Keith’s chest. “Enough fighting! Is this what it’s always like between you two?” he demanded, looking pointedly at both of them. Keith glared at him, and Lance was no better, turning on his heels and continuing in stride with Hunk. “For one: pranks are not a sufficient way to teach your students, Keith.”

“And so you’re siding with him then?” Keith blurted out, lips pulling into a sneer as he registered that Shiro was about to argue otherwise, regardless of the words he just said. It didn’t take a genius to peg that Shiro was insinuating that Keith was a terrible teacher, and it was exactly what Keith picked up from it. “In case you couldn’t tell, sorcery isn’t so cut-and-dry, unlike cartography and horticulture.”

“But that is no excuse to be pranking your students,” he countered, and looked to Pidge as if to prompt her disapproval as well. Instead, she stared at him like he was mental, glancing at Keith and then completely away from them. 

“As if Lance has never done the same to me,” Keith hissed. “As a first time teacher I think the fact that Lance is even alive at this point would be a success on my part. The source should have killed him _years ago_ —he was half-dead after the magick took its toll.”

“I’m not saying you’re a bad teacher, Keith—but you shouldn’t fight fire with fire—”

“Fire with fire? Really? You want to use that idiom with me?” he said, the heat pulsing just under the pads of his fingers, through the gloves, like a frantic heartbeat pumping against his veins. “Really, at this point, it should be no surprise that Lance and I never got along as well as you and Pidge. Lance’s marks have a complete inverse meaning to them. So _don’t_ criticize me for something that’s a natural occurrence.”

“I was just simply—”

“ _Don’t_ , Shiro,” he snapped. “I don’t want to hear it.”

He stared back at Shiro, who watched him with that hard stare that sent his jaw ticking. He tightened his teeth together and turned away, biting back whatever it was he wanted to say. Keith continued to glare at him until the sound of a raven squawking echoed just above his head. The sound of its wings beating fluttered down, until its talons gripped onto the top of Keith’s backpack.

Pidge pointed to it and said, “It has a letter.” 

Keith raised an arm up, and the raven dropped onto it, lifting one foot out for Keith to untie the ribbon. “Ask what its name is,” Keith told Pidge, and when she did, the raven quirked its head at her and barked out, “Pilot!” 

Pidge gasped and clapped her hands. “What’s my name?” she asked, and the raven croaked in response, answer unknown. “My name’s Pidge. What’s my name?”

“Pidge!”

She yelped with excitement, and when Keith finished untying the ribbon, he gestured for Pidge to hold up her arm. “Pilot’s safe to hold,” he told her. Pilot hopped onto her arm and jumped in small increments up her arm, until Pilot was perched on her shoulder. Pilot pecked lightly at her hair until she shook her head, laughing. 

Keith unraveled the letter and absently reached into his pocket for a snack for Pilot. After reading through it once, he read it aloud. “‘I would be happy to board you and your friends for a week. It is unfortunate that your friend is experiencing spiritual troubles, and it would be an honor to help fix the problem. I only ask for your cooperation and week of labour in return for my services. It is nothing much—a power supply if you will. It would be greatly appreciated. Yours, Nyma.’”

“So she wants to use you as a human power source in return for fixing up Shiro?” Lance said, and Keith huffed in response. “Isn’t that… kind of weird?”

“A lot of sorcerers pay for another sorcerer’s services by offering their own,” Keith explained with a sigh. “I sort of figured that would be the cost. Sorceresses like Nyma tend to have their own agendas and projects going on. It will likely involve that, in addition to the ritual for Shiro.”

“And… you’re okay with this?” Shiro asked hesitantly, and Keith caught sight of the slight tilt of his eyebrow rising. 

“It’s fine. It _is_ the least I could do for Nyma,” he confessed, and absently reached out to the raven perched on Pidge’s shoulder. He rubbed his knuckles against Pilot’s feathers as he stuffed Nyma’s letter into his pant pocket. He could feel the heaviness of his own eyelids, down to the weight of his hands swinging at his sides, his heels as they ached in his boots. He pegged it all as evidence of his lack of magick. 

When they got to the city, he would have to visit their source well. Large cities were often centered around source wells, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delayed update! Usually I'm always a chapter or two ahead but right now I'm just flying off the seat of my pants here. I've written two essays this week even though my brain is all WIZARD KEITH SAVE THE DAY. And I forget if I ever linked my witchsona Keith here so [x](http://gurlskylark.tumblr.com/post/152139688865/keiths-familiar-is-a-raven) there it is.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! I love reading your responses :D


	13. { the city }

They spent another night in the wilderness, just before arriving in the city, and putting up more protective atmospheres wore on Keith’s ability to function on their walks. It started with tailing at the back of the group, and then he nearly let Rover’s backpack slip off his shoulders until Hunk hoisted it up and generously offered his arm for Keith to use. Keith could barely get a grip on Hunk’s arm, but the big man was intent on holding Keith up no matter what. He clasped his own hands around Keith’s, and was surprised to find Hunk’s fingers warmer than his own.

“I am… under the impression that you are not usually this cold,” Hunk commented, squeezing Keith’s wrist softly before looking over to Lance. “Feel his hand.”

“Don’t fucking touch my hand—gods, Lance,” Keith whined when Lance took his hand anyway. 

“If you aren’t warm, then is Rover…?” Lance asked, and Keith nodded for him to check the backpack. He replied with an affirmative—Rover’s cage was still plenty hot.

“I forget that Allura’s cage saps my elemental magick,” Keith confessed. “I’ll be fine.”

By the time they saw the city on the horizon, where the mountains merged with the landscape, Keith was completely leaning on Hunk refusing to let his feet stop. If he stopped, Keith was certain he wouldn’t be able to convince his legs to stand straight again. He considered using his cloak—sure, it would sap more energy and magick, but at least he would make it to the well faster. It was tempting, but then he had to think of Rover—crashing and tumbling across the well platform was not a superb way of taking care of Rover. 

Shiro offered to hold up Keith’s other side, but he shooed him away and snarled something along the lines of colorful swears in response. He couldn’t exactly remember. 

His vision was blurring again. It tended to happen when his blinking became slower, and it felt like he was on the verge of sleep walking. He entered the city like this, so he really only picked up on the awe it inspired from Lance and Hunk as they stumbled their way through the streets. And then, they were panicking over where to find a source well—there had to be one, otherwise, why would sorcerers congregate here? Keith tried to open his mouth to answer but his lips felt like cotton. 

“I think… I think I remember where it is,” Shiro said. “It’s been a while though.”

“Well then, hurry up and show us! I’m pretty sure Keith is about to fall unconscious.”

“Hunk, take his backpack—I’ll carry him.”

“Are you serious? But the heat—”

“At this point I don’t think Keith would provide any more heat than you could. Come on—” Suddenly Keith dropped backwards and he clutched his hands to Hunk’s in an effort to stay standing. But someone was picking him up, and he was off the ground, and Shiro’s unmistakable scent of evergreens was woven in through the fabric of his jacket. 

Keith let his arms drop, and he held his hands close to his stomach, letting himself relax despite the tight bundle of stress building in his chest. He knew there were problems he should be worrying about now—the things he’d been worrying about since they left the town; keeping Rover warm; watching out for galra possessions; keeping everyone safe; wondering endlessly about what Nyma would ask of him. At this point, they all muddled together and tangled, and became an anonymous clump between his ribs.

After a while, Keith felt the warmth of the source well tiles and the heat of Shiro’s chest disappear. He yearned for it, and even tried to cling onto Shiro’s jacket as he left Keith’s side.

His hand dropped to the ground, and he used it to shove himself up to his knees. Warmth coiled around his hands and arms as he pumped fire into the surface. It came up in soft sparks, until finally lighting ablaze with a swirl of smoke emitting from the surface. He performed the ritual, and after several minutes, felt himself again. Refreshed. Together again. 

He sat back on his heels and closed his eyes with a sigh. He let his head drop back, and when he opened his eyes, he stared at the mosaic ceiling, and the patchwork of stained-glass windows all across the ceiling and the walls dropping down in the shape of a dome. They sent in rays of reddish-blue light, specks of yellow and green, and purple that enveloped the people standing around the edges. His friends were washed over in a patch of red light, and Keith allowed himself the chance to at last stand up and walk to them. Several unknown eyes followed him along the way. 

He took the backpack that housed Rover and slipped his arms through the straps. “Sorry about that,” he apologized, looking down at the ground as he nudged his head in the direction of the door. “We should get going.”

As they skirted around the edges of the well, Keith avoided lifting his gaze even when they passed sorcerers who addressed him, by name, asking questions he didn’t bother answering. Shiro was the one to say, “Sorry, we’re in a bit of a rush— No, Keith can’t talk to you right now, sorry—” 

They exited the source well, and out the arched columns that framed the entrance. Keith hurried down the steps with the others on his heels, and discretely pulled up his hood to avoid being recognized by the sorcerers coming in to visit the well. They snuck past relatively unnoticed, though when Keith looked back at Lance, he found that the lad hardly blended in. Any young sorcerer who first visited the city had that same look of unadulterated wonder and rapture on their faces.

Pilot the raven still perched on Pidge’s shoulder, and flapped its wings every now and again when someone looked at them strangely. Keith navigated the streets expertly, glancing only sparingly at the road names and the titles on the buildings. They hurried across the brick road and up onto the curb, and after a split second of hesitation, Keith crooked his finger at them, and in the direction of the alley they eventually ducked into.

Here, between the buildings where the brick and stone facades disappeared, they found dingy concrete walls riddled with paintings and graffiti. Keith recognized many of the symbols here and there, and noted them to Lance, who agreed. “Alchemy signs,” he said, and Keith agreed, and pointed to another pentagram trapped in a circle. “Exorcism,” Lance said. “And astronomical symbols.”

“Right. What’s this constellation here?”

“The phoenix—which… matches Nyma’s description, right?” Lance concluded, and when Keith nodded, Lance gasped and said, “She’s a fire sorceress, like you!”

“What gave you that brilliant idea?” The foreign voice snapped their attention behind, back down the alley several paces away. A woman stood there, where her loose-fitted pants were a dead giveaway for Keith. His expression remained neutral, though, as she stepped up to them and slipped between Hunk and Shiro, reaching absently for Pilot’s soft feathers before reaching Keith. 

Her pale features gave way to the sharp details of her face—from the height of her cheekbones to the cunning edge of her eyes and the makeup she defined them with. Her hair was heavy and condensed with beaded blonde dreads, falling over her heavy patchwork scarf that encircled her neck. When her lips pulled into a grin, he saw her familiar sharp canines, and the edge of her elvish ears behind her locks of hair.

Smirking, she said, “And you thought you would never see me again, didn’t you?” 

Keith grit his teeth together and managed to force a smile. “And wouldn’t that have made my life infinitely easier?” 

She laughed and nudged him playfully in the arm. “Don’t say such things. Introduce me to your friends and I’ll let you in my studio.”

And so Keith went around with introductions, starting with Lance and ending with Shiro, as the victim of the crisis. Nyma studied Shiro for a moment, and tapped her fingers to her chin as she circled him. Anyone would have suspected she was just simply examining his exterior, but she could do so much more than that. Keith once saw what she was capable of—and a simple examination was nothing short of spectacular in her eyes. 

“I see the problem,” she said, and glanced down the alleyway and back to Keith. “I’ll explain in the studio. Come on.”

The studio was behind one of those graffitied concrete walls, but involved the touch of a sorcerer to open the nonexistent door. She ran her sharp nail over the edge of several concrete bricks, and they pushed open instantly, giving way to the smell of incense, and soft bluish light.

The foyer was nothing more than a narrow hallway in which they crammed in and kicked off their boots. Nyma disappeared down the hall and into the room at the end, so when they finished with their coats and such, Pidge led the way down the brick-lined corridor and out into the open of Nyma’s studio flat.

It was a large, open space that consisted of a long narrow window on the far side, and lights hidden behind tapestries elsewhere. Keith was not surprised to find in her apartment a metal table holding a semi-frozen corpse.

Pidge hesitated at the sight of it in the middle of the living space, and Hunk actually shrieked. Nyma was off in the kitchen making tea when she heard Hunk’s exclamation, and seemed to register the problem. “Oh, yeah, sorry about the mess and also the cadaver. I’ve been studying the afterlife.”

“Afterlife?” Pidge asked, and Nyma hummed in agreement. “Is there one?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” she said, turning around with a smirk. She leant her hands back on the counter and winked at her. “That’s the point of the experiment, you see.”

“How do you… study it?”

“I bring corpses back to life and see what they have to say. Most of them are a real drawl, you see—the most I have gotten is this in-between state of nothing but dark and cold, but I have evidence to suggest that something comes after all that,” she explained. “But enough about the afterlife, and more about this man here. Tell me about your predicament, Shiro.” 

They sat down around her table—the one that wasn’t occupied by a corpse—and Shiro explained the situation, the ritual, the galra. Nyma listened with a thoughtful expression on her face, and made comments here and there where appropriate. She gave off the vibe of someone who was an excellent listener, and Keith scowled at her the entire time. After several minutes she got up and dished out the tea in mismatched mugs and cups. She drank from hers, and Keith found himself studying her closely. There was always something off about the way she acted, but Keith figured was just being ridiculous. Allura always adored Nyma, but Keith always got a weird vibe from her, aside from her excellent listening skills.

He figured it had to do with the fact that she probably spent more time around dead people than she did alive. The fact that she had a corpse in her living room was evidence of this. The strong incense was probably there to mask the decaying smell.

Keith sniffed his tea before taking a sip of it. Nyma had the others captivated whenever she talked, and even as Shiro talked, their attention seemed to all be focused on her. Keith could understand Lance’s fascination—suddenly his world of sorcery was getting larger, faster than he could imagine. Before Allura came, Keith was the only other magick-wielding individual Lance knew. 

“—And the fact that the ravens and the black cat were both on the scene when the galra appeared or possessed someone solidifies our theory. Unless you have a better idea, that is,” Shiro finished, and Nyma barely noted Pilot perched on Pidge’s shoulder. Her eyes were focused on Shiro, even as she pushed away from the table and stepped around it.

Her nimble hands drew across his shoulders as she said, “I’m going to see what I can find. If I can I will project the image of one into the room—you may feel a slight chill. Relax… take a deep breath…” she coached, massaging her hands against the back of his neck. She braced one hand on his shoulder, and pushed the thumb of her other hand up Shiro’s spine where his skin showed past his sweater. Her hand came to rest over his hair, and then her fingers eased against his forehead, flattening the white patch of hair there. Keith studied how Shiro’s eyes fluttered closed the instant Nyma’s fingers touched his face.

“Breathe in for me,” she said, and they all heard the steady inhale Shiro took, sucking in the air and holding it until she urged him to release the air from his lungs.

As he did, Keith saw a flicker of light across his left eye, and nearly dropped his mug. He stumbled to put it on the table, staring at Nyma as she lowered her head and shut her eyes, focusing. And again—the white light pulsed, but it was nothing more than a flicker of light. It was there, nonetheless.

In an instant all sound seemed to repel from the apartment, and left Keith in a bubble that magnified the pulse of his blood against his neck. He pressed his hand to it, and in a matter of seconds Nyma’s voice broke through, “Exhale…” and Shiro’s breath sent white light flashing across Keith’s vision. He heard the sound of someone falling but didn’t look, because now he could see the figures again, and how they congregated in the white room with the white walls, white tables and white, smokey figures of everyone sitting around the table. There were three of them perfectly intact in their colors and shadows and three-dimensionality: Keith, Nyma, and Lance, surrounded by the galra.

Keith scrambled out of his seat and ran straight through a ghostly figure. The particles rushed over him like sand, damp and chalky and reminding Keith that he couldn’t do anything to the galra here, just as they couldn’t do anything to him.

Everywhere he looked their eyes were on him. They followed him even as he backed himself up against the counter trying to get to the exit. His breath was fast, and he could hear Lance’s panicked breaths. “Keith—” he started, getting up from the floor where he fell. 

Keith’s attention darted over to him, and stifled a scream when he recognized the galra standing no more than an inch from Lance. Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro were nothing more than sculptures here, and the galra walked towards them, drawing his clawed fingers over their hair, their shoulders, making his way towards Keith.

“ _Keith Kogane_ ,” the galra repeated, and those glowing yellow eyes sent Keith into a pit where he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, much less scream for Nyma to _stop whatever the hell she was doing_.

“ _No!_ ” 

The galra was directly in front of Keith when a hand broke through the ghostly figure’s chest, followed by the entire body of Lance diving through it. The galra dissolved like sand, dropping around them as Lance toppled straight into Keith and slammed the both of them into the counter—on top of the counter— _over the counter_.

They hit the floor and a ripple of color came back to it. Soon, the entire apartment was washed over in color and shadows, and the multicolored tapestries that highlighted the fact that Hunk and Pidge were by their sides the entire time, and helped pick Lance and Keith up off the ground.

Keith huffed hard, clutching his chest and staring at Lance as if he was out of his goddamn mind. Lance looked no better—his eyes were unfocused, his face pallid, and staring vacantly at where Pidge was waving her hand in front of him.

Despite the pain of landing on his shoulder, Keith took Lance from Hunk’s arms and shook him a little. “Lance—Lance snap out of it. Come on. _Come on_.” He patted his hands on Lance’s cheeks until at last he got him to blink. 

Lance raised his eyes up briefly and dropped them, clearing his throat. he straighten up and rubbed a hand over his face. “I—That guy—I recognized him.”

Just about all of them sighed in relief—this was the Lance they knew, and not the maniac who concussed Shiro and possessed Hunk.

“What do you mean?” Keith asked, urging him to look up. Something was off about the way Lance continued to look at the floor—anywhere but Keith. In the end, he dropped his arms from Lance’s shoulders and told him to sit down, and for Hunk to make sure he was all right. Keith stared after Lance and Hunk as they went to one of the couches farthest from the cadaver on the metal table.

Pidge hurried from Keith’s side then, which drew his attention back to where Nyma and Shiro were. Her eyes were open now, and she was slowly lowering Shiro’s head down onto the table—he was unconscious, it seemed.

Keith approached the table cautiously, waiting for a response from Nyma. Her face was stoic, lips sealed tight and eyes even as she leveled them with Keith’s. She leant her hands on the back of Shiro’s chair and said:

“This is bad, Keith.”

“I know, but—”

“No,” she exclaimed, “no, you _don’t know_. If you knew you would not have let this man near you. Do you realize how dangerous possessions like these are? They are erratic and unpredictable and you could have gotten seriously _hurt_ , Keith. And on top of it you—you _slept with him?_ ” Her quiet hiss drew Pidge’s eyes wide as she looked to Keith. 

His jaw was set tight as he managed to bite out, “It was before I realized something was wrong. How did you know?”

“These _things_ —the galra, you call them—retain memories. Which likely means they will either attempt to target people in Shiro’s memories, or the reverse effect. Considering Shiro never had memories of Lance, and Pidge has been safe this entire time, I suspect they limit their victims to people outside of Shiro’s memories. But that doesn’t mean you are necessarily safe, Keith. As I said, these sorts of possessions are unpredictable.”

“It makes sense, though,” Pidge said, looking between the both of them. “If the villagers performed the rituals on travelers, it makes sense that no one would link instances that branched out from them. I imagine most possessions occur to just… people the host passes by, and not people he or she spends a whole lot of time with. It’s a fast way to spread the galra without causing a huge disruption.”

“Exactly,” Nyma said, and continued to glare at Keith. Eventually, she sighed through her nose and released her grip on Shiro’s chair. “We can’t let this sit longer than necessary. I filled up at the well earlier today—are you good?”

“I’m fine,” Keith answered, voice harsh as he continued, “What the hell are we going to do anyway?”

“Whatever we can—Now, I want you to go into the room over there and pull out a tub, yes, the wooden one,” she ordered Pidge, and continued to snap orders at Keith to grab Shiro’s left arm while she took his right and together they heaved him out of the chair.

Pidge dragged the heavy wooden tub out from beneath a pile of crap and shoved it into the middle of Nyma’s open room. It scraped against the concrete and the sound echoed throughout the apartment. Nyma and Keith heaved Shiro into the tub, and after stepping back, she looked over to where Lance and Hunk were sitting, talking in quiet voices. 

She snapped her fingers at them, drawing their attention. “Lance, we need you. Those are water marks, right?”

Lance stood up and looked down at his own arms before nodding. “Yeah, they are.”

“Perfect. We need you to circuit the water from the faucet into the tub.”

“Are you kidding?” Lance said, and looked to Keith for help. “She’s kidding, right?”

Keith turned to Nyma, shaking his head. “He just got his marks and doesn’t know the first thing about bending water.”

“Isn’t that just perfect?” she muttered under her breath, and Lance let out a shrill noise of opposition. 

“That sounds like a challenge!” he shouted.

“Now’s not the time to learn the art of elemental magick, Lance,” Keith said, marching to the kitchen and starting his hunt for a bowl. Lance was at his side in a matter of seconds, turning the faucet on full blast and trying unsuccessfully to catch it in his hands. “ _Lance_ seriously, you don’t have to—”

Lance swore under his breath and swiped his hand under the stream of water, and jabbed his hands in the direction of the tub. Pidge shrieked and ducked as a water jet rocketed across the room, over the kitchen table, and where Nyma leapt out of the way. It hit the floor and as Lance navigated the stream, he got it to fall directly into the tub, but not without breaking a sweat.

The force of the current ran the pipe dry in a matter of seconds, but brought the water level up halfway. Nyma said it would do, and Lance let his arms collapse at his sides and he released a heavy sigh. 

Keith stared at him in shock, hand still halfway in the cupboard for a bowl. “You little shit,” he said, and Lance laughed tiredly, smiling as if he could hardly believe it himself. “That’s probably the most magick you’ve used since day one,” Keith joked.

“Shut up,” Lance muttered, still smiling and trying to hold back on the blush that sent his ears bright red.

Keith returned to the tub where he groaned at the sight of Nyma plucking off Shiro’s clothes. “Wouldn’t this have been easier _before_ adding the water?” he complained, to which she snapped that it didn’t go exactly as planned and to help out a little. Keith unbuckled Shiro’s trousers as Nyma yanked his sweater off and flung it across the room. Shiro’s skin was a flawless olive color, with a tan line where his clothes covered during his travels. There was no longer a single scar across his body—except the one Keith was unable to remove, slashed across his cheeks. His skin was back to its usual smooth texture.

“All of it—remove all of it,” Nyma demanded.

From farther away, Keith head Lance mutter, “Doesn’t this bring back memories.” He looked over his shoulder to scowl at his apprentice. “What? I’m just saying. A lot of your rituals involve nudity.”

“I imagine you’re talking about the marking ritual,” Nyma commented as she balled up Shiro’s pants and chucked them away. “That was more for traditional purposes—a lot of superstitious people do that. This is more for the sake of preserving Shiro’s clothes. Anything unnatural will be cleansed, and that includes clothing. We were all born naked, and that is how we will leave this world when all our clothes decay and there will be nothing left but bones.”

“Don’t be so dark, Nyma,” Keith muttered, and she snickered from across the tub. It just made him sour because at that same point Keith yanked off Shiro’s undergarments from his feet and tossed them. “What about the glyphs?”

“ _Real_ exorcists don’t need glyphs,” she replied with a devilish grin, reaching her hands across the tub and flexing her fingers at him. “Now—hang on tight and don’t let go whatever you do. We’ll be linking our sources, and breaking the connection means sacrificing a limb or two.” Keith rolled his eyes—losing limbs wasn’t always the case, but given the circumstances Keith didn’t want to end up hurting Shiro in the process. Anything involving people was a tedious, and dangerous process.

Nyma’s hands were warm, and it came as a surprise to Keith regardless of the fiery markings across her hands. They spiraled in rings around each of her fingers, displaying her elemental qualities to any and all who cared to look. It was no wonder her skin was so warm.

Keith held on firmly and glanced over at where Lance, Pidge, and Hunk stood at a decent distance away. Pidge had her hands clasped underneath her chin, and Lance displayed all the worry Pidge refused to show. Keith swallowed hard and turned back to Shiro’s somber face—his upturned chin, the water droplets speckling his cheeks. 

At last, he locked eyes with Nyma, who nodded to him and started the soft chant that would link them together for the ritual. Keith felt his chest expanding, and the bubble he lived in being intercepted by another. They converged, and swept them into the constant roar and hum of their own heartbeats, mingled with the push and pull effect of magick seeping in… and out…

White started to glow, rising up from their hands and arms and underneath their clothes. Keith could see the sharp, jutting lines across Nyma’s arms rising up to her collarbone, and then in a straight, deep line down her naval. It circled around her hips in razor-sharp designs—it all laid beneath her flowing pants and short top.

“Allura _said_ you had interesting marks,” Nyma’s voice cut in, drawing Keith’s eyes back up to hers, realizing that she was studying his as well. He tightened his jaw, and he was certain she felt his annoyance. She chuckled a little, readjusting her legs before clearing her throat. “Never mind that. Just sit tight and watch the master do her work.”

Keith snorted, “ _Master_ , as if.”

She shushed him. A moment of quiet lapsed, and after several minutes, Nyma began the ritual. 

Keith could feel everything that passed through her, and how each word carried with it a power Keith could hardly fathom. It was their combined magick that reached in, latching on to Shiro’s face and pulling it in a way that caused his entire body to jerk, and a sharp gasp to come out through his mouth.

Their magick dove in, driving out the black ash and soot that sent the scar on his face blaring with yellow light. Keith’s heart twisted as he felt an intense rush of some unimaginable pain shoot through Nyma. It was like nothing he had ever felt—it wasn’t physical, or emotional, and yet it sent his entire body jittering with the sensation that whatever it was, pierced him through his very spirit. It was spiritual pain, he realized, and it carried with it the sensation of a pit of darkness. Never ending. Lost, broken, disheartening.

The water in the tub began blacken with the soot that spilled from Shiro’s mouth, and when his eyes shot open, they mimicked that same yellow glowing of his scar. His hands gripped the edges of the tub, but he didn’t seem to have the strength to rise, or be aware that he was actually trying to escape. Nyma kept chanting.

As Keith suspected, he felt the toll of using far too much magick too quickly. It was at a rate Keith hadn’t felt in ages, and it held the rush of adrenaline. It was an impression that sorcerers could become hooked on, and he saw the look in Nyma’s face when she felt it too. He imagined she rarely had the chance to use this much, and it lit her face with exhilaration.

The water started to evaporate into thin air the second Nyma twisted her fingers tighter around Keith’s. She dragged their hands over Shiro’s face, where their magick clung to him, and in one swift motion she ripped their hands down the length of Shiro’s body, yanking their magick out of him and every last speck of ash.

Keith’s chest felt as though someone ripped their talons across it as Nyma swiftly finished the motion. He heard her sharp intake of breath, but it was quickly replaced by Shiro’s harsh gasp, as if emerging from water. The water that was once around him rose in a plume of smoke… and dispersed. 

Nyma released their hands and clung to the fabric over her chest. Keith did the same, and pulled at his sweater to see the damage. He couldn’t find a single mark of the claws that cut into him, but when he looked up to Nyma, the front of her cropped shirt was damp with red. 

“Nyma, you’re bleeding,” he said lamely, and weakly reached up to pull her hands away. Instead, she gripped his wrist with all the strength she had remaining, and yanked him towards her. 

When her eyes rose up to his, he panicked at the sight of yellow reflecting against her irises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd panic too, bro. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! Thanks for everyone who's been reading my story even after Halloween, I really appreciate it! You are all such lovely people :D


	14. { the exorcism }

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit—” Keith shrieked, and yelled for everyone to get out. He yanked at his hand and once free, shoved Nyma back on the ground and swept both of his hands up. She leapt at him with her sharp nails raised, but was instantly jerked back. Her wrists slammed into the ground, and an ungodly shriek emitted from her mouth.

“ _Lance_ —get them out of here! Take Rover with you,” Keith shouted, narrowly avoiding being hit upside the head by a flying chair. As it clattered against the wall, he heard their footsteps rushing to the door. The rapid flapping of Pilot’s wings followed them.

Nyma hissed under her breath and ripped one of her hands free from Keith’s binds. He staggered away as her lips pulled back into a sinister smile, reminding Keith entirely of when Lance—possessed and half-naked in the flat above the shop—sneered, “ _Keith Kogane…_ ”

When Nyma slurred his name with her sadistically flirtatious voice, Keith felt it shiver down his entire spine. He gripped his hands into the air, fingers clawed, and her entire body went rigid then. With as much strength as he could muster, managed to restrict her and her magick. 

The objects across the room were quivering as Nyma’s lips mumbled incoherently, a drunken quality to her words. Keith didn’t dare move near her—he could hardly believe he managed to avoid possession when their magick sources were linked. It was a miracle in and of itself.

Keith heard movement behind him, and the sound of someone’s limbs slipping against the wood of the tub. Not daring to move an inch, Keith said, “Don’t move, Shiro.”

The noise ceased as Shiro hesitated in the tub, perhaps realizing that he was stark naked at that moment. A second later a shrill creak echoed across the apartment—like the sound of metal on wheels. _Metal on wheels_.

The front door burst open and Keith glanced briefly over at where Lance raced out from behind the brick wall, panting, “Tell me what to do.”

Keith floundered at the sight of him—he hadn’t thought to include Lance in this, but it was apparent that Shiro’s exorcism took a lot of energy to begin with, and then controlling Nyma’s body? Just as he was about to give Lance an order, the boy screamed bloody murder and pointed across the room.

“ _Dear gods!_ ” Shiro shouted, struggling to leap from the tub in time to avoid a crash of bones against the tub. Keith’s attention divided, and he narrowly managed to dodge the puppet-like fingers of the cadaver reaching for him.

The sight of the deceased body, with its clammy white flesh and grayish eyes sent Keith screaming, scrambling his feet away from the clumsy fingers clawing towards him. Its jaw hung slack, rotted teeth and slimy, bluish tongue slapping against its lips as it let out a grated cry.

“Watch out!” Lance shouted. Keith looked back to Nyma, who was getting to her feet and lashing out at him with such intensity, the force of it sent Keith off his feet. The air escaped his lungs, and he could feel the bruise of her attack settling in to his chest.

He rolled across the ground and coughed, rising up onto his elbows as he watched Nyma bring her arms up, controlling the puppet of a cadaver as the deceased man lumbered towards him, rotted teeth and skin snarling at him.

A shadow fell over Keith just as Lance stepped over him with his hands gripping the edge of a cinderblock. He swung it up and took out the cadaver underneath the jaw. The puppet fell to the ground, only to get up again, regardless of the dent in its jaw.

Keith got up in time to find Shiro, now wearing pants, wielding an iron pan. He swung it against the back of Nyma’s head and knocked her, unconscious, to the ground. Regardless of Nyma’s lack of consciousness, the cadaver came for Lance again, who couldn’t seem to wield the cinderblock again for the life of him. 

Keith shouted disjointedly, desperately, his heartbeat accelerating as the cadaver tumbled, its legs knocked out from under him. The skin along its knees tore, and then its elbows, shoulders, hips and neck. Lance stumbled away from it, tripped over Keith’s legs, and fell just as the cadaver dismantled and collapsed.

Keith’s limbs felt infinitely heavier as he tried to stand up. A pair of hands grabbed him under his shoulders and heaved him to his feet. He leant against Shiro as he shuttered at the sight of the cadaver’s missing limbs. 

“I can’t do another exorcism,” Keith said, panting. “Lance—”

“Oh no, I’m not—no way,” Lance stammered, shaking his head quickly, alarmed. “You said so yourself. Anything involving humans—”

“Then do you know how to link your magick with mine?” Keith asked. “We did something similar to it a few months ago—I let you take some of mine. Do you remember that?” Lance studied Keith’s face frantically and after a moment, nodded.

A quick search proved that Nyma didn’t keep paint in her house, so Keith rifled around in his pockets, certain that he left some in there from Lance’s ritual. He had Lance paint the glyph around Nyma’s fallen body and after completing it, he stood up and went to Keith’s side. Shiro stepped back, giving them space, and watched from afar as Keith coached Lance on the process.

“You have to keep your hands on me at all times—on my shoulders, right. And you remember the words? Repeat after me—” They tested the words aloud and once satisfied with Lance’s pronunciation, Keith counted down to the moment they would link their magick sources. 

When their bubbles combined, Keith instantly felt the difference between Nyma’s and Lance’s, and his own as well. Nyma’s was condensed, tight, and pulsed warmth like embers. When Lance’s bubble collided with Keith’s, he was shocked to feel the overwhelming sensation of liquid dousing him head to toe, and the wild, uncontrollable nature of it reminded Keith that Lance was completely new to this. He could feel the apprentice’s apprehension, trying to hold back on the vast ocean he bundled within himself. 

And Keith was even more shocked to realize that it _was_ an ocean. It was an ocean that rivaled the strength and intensity of Keith’s own bubble. Until that point, he never realized how much magick Lance kept at bay by some unforeseen phenomenon. Anyone with that much magick would have tapped into it at a younger age.

“That feels really… weird,” Lance laughed nervously, his fingers clammy against Keith’s sweater.

“It’s just because we function differently,” Keith said, having to clear his throat to say it. He decided not to voice his concerns about Lance’s incredible source of magick. “Ready?” 

Lance hummed his affirmation, and Keith began the ritual.

He tried not to focus on how incredible it was to manipulate a source like Lance’s. He understood perfectly how Nyma felt, but in this case, he was actually experiencing the thrill. The magick ran like oil across his skin, pooling at his fingertips in a way he never felt before. Was this the difference between water elemental magick and fire? 

He felt the air thicken, and the gust of cutting his hand up the length of Nyma’s body sent his hair wild. The markings on the floor turned to smoke in an explosive clap. The blood soaking Nyma’s shirt lifted up from the fabric, and turned to that smoky ash that had removed Shiro’s scars.

After the ritual, Nyma coughed, and a small black cloud came out with it. She cleared her lungs and knelt over Keith and Lance’s rudimentary exorcist glyph. Keith dropped his hands and told Lance that he could let go now.

When Keith returned to his own bubble, he felt off center, and resisted the urge to stagger under it. Instead, he stepped over the burning marks and helped Nyma to her feet. She cleared her throat, pressing a hand to her neck.

“What happened?” she croaked, looking past Keith to where Shiro and Lance stood, and then to the bits of the corpse scattered on the ground. She choked a little, looking far more distressed than Keith expected her to be. “My project—!” she cried, pushing Keith away to run to it.

As Nyma picked up a dismembered hand, Keith looked sparingly to Lance and Shiro before walking up to Nyma. “Sorry about your… corpse,” he said awkwardly. “You reanimated it and I—”

“I did?” she interrupted, pausing to look up at him in shock. “I have been trying to resurrect this one for days now—how could I have—?”

Keith seemed just as dumbfounded as her before she stood up and strode across the room to Shiro, still holding the cold, lifeless hand between her fingers. Shiro seemed hesitant to let Nyma touch his face after holding a corpse, but she grabbed him anyways and pressed her free hand to his forehead. 

She held it there for a minute or two before pulling away and looking frantically around the room. She went back to the corpse, set the limb down, and went to the glyph Lance painted onto her concrete floor. There, she stood with her hands on her hips trying to process everything. In the end she reached under her shirt to feel for a mark of some kind on her chest. There was none. 

“Something isn’t right,” she said. “Spirits don’t just disappear like that.”

“What do you mean?” Keith asked.

“I _mean_ that the galra are just _gone_. They vanished into thin air! It doesn’t make sense…” She tapped her finger to her lip and studied the glyph again before moving to the tub. “I would have been able to tell if they passed on to where spirits dwell but this… is bizarre. Like you said—it’s as if they are on a completely different plain of existence, which means they have no where to go _except_ there. Almost like… by making hosts, the galra are able to traverse between the two plains.”

“So we closed one of their entrances,” Keith suggested, and she nodded quickly. “Then that’s good, right?”

“For now, yes,” she agreed with a curt nod. “Though I am worried about this parallel dimension. If villagers like the ones who hexed Shiro are able to make entrances like this…”

“We don’t plan on letting them continue,” Keith told her, shaking his head. “When we get to the village, I will—”

“But here’s the thing,” she interrupted, “People don’t just make entrances like this unless there’s a reason for it. They keep making entrances for a _reason_ , Keith. They won’t stop until that reason is gone. But my concern lies in the fact that they are capable of doing this. Who taught them _to do this?_ ”

Keith didn’t have an answer for her, and simply pursed his lips shut as she tugged her hands through the heavy locks of her hair. In the end, she dropped her hands and stared mournfully at the dismembered body. “Raising a bodiless head would not be a pleasant thing,” she mused aloud. “I suppose I will have to convince the morgue to offer a new corpse. Can you tell me all the details about the reanimation?” 

Lance left to fetch Hunk and Pidge and Shiro left to the restroom to clean up and change. They packed the bits of the body away before Hunk and Pidge entered, and Nyma discretely put the bag by the exit. Keith relayed the details of the resurrection, and what words he could recall her saying while she was possessed. It was all on the verge of gibberish, which was really saying something considering most spells sounded like gibberish to people who weren’t familiar with sorcery. And Keith, who was a sorcerer himself and a talented one at that, could hardly mark Nyma’s chants off as spell-worthy.

“Perhaps it’s a different language then?” she suggested, but Pidge shook her head.

“Languages have form—by the sound of it, this didn’t have form. Perhaps it wasn’t the words at all that animated the corpse,” Pidge suggested, and Keith shrugged. He honestly didn’t know. “Well, from what I understand, sorcerers require outlets for their magick—through gestures or words. Could she have done this without either of those?”

“Magick without a tangible outlet?” Nyma said, sounding surprised. “I have never been able to do that. Keith—you can, can’t you?”

He fidgeted uncomfortably and shrugged, looking briefly at Lance, who was watching him closely. “In some cases. Why, did Allura mention it?”

Nyma blushed a little at the accusation, and mumbled something that was close enough to agreement. After a moment, Pidge hummed a little and drew her fingers across the table, a contemplative look on her face. She hesitantly approached the subject on the tip of her tongue, and spoke it aloud: “Nyma… you wouldn’t consider yourself a necromancer, would you?”

“Not particularly. I’m just… well, necromancers are able to _successfully_ raise the dead. I can’t be considered a real necromancer without apprenticing under one,” she confessed. “I am mostly interested in the spiritual side of magick.”

“And then Keith—you’re an apothecary.” He nodded at that, and Pidge let out a sigh and said, “Well, I’m just wondering aloud here. But each practice of magick seems to have it’s own dictionary. Keith’s would be medicines and herbalism, and Nyma, your’s would be communicating with spirits and such. Would it be… farfetched to assume that necromancers have their own ancient language?” 

“I suppose, sure,” Nyma said with a half-shrug. “But I have always gone off the books, so to speak. I don’t know much about a necromancer’s jargon, if I’m being completely honest.’

“Off the books is an understatement,” Keith scoffed. 

Pidge glared disapprovingly at Keith and continued, “The fact that Keith isn’t a necromancer would explain why he doesn’t understand the mumbling gibberish, because it’s fashioned in a necromancer’s dialect. And the fact that Nyma is ‘off the books’, her brain probably processed it differently than a regular, straightforward mind. That is my theory.”

“That is an excellent theory,” Nyma commented, and clapped her hands theatrically. Pidge bowed and just as they retracted from the topic, Shiro emerged from the bathroom. 

Pidge leapt to her feet and raced over to where Shiro smiled at her. She tossed her arms around his neck and let him swing her up into the air. “Are you better? Do you feel better?” she asked, and Shiro laughed, tucking his face against Pidge’s mess of reddish-brown hair. Keith could still see the white patch on his hair, but it seemed mostly benign. As for the scar on his face, they couldn’t see the details of it until Pidge dropped back down to her feet, and Keith saw that the scar itself had completely vanished.

“I do feel better,” he replied, rubbing his hand over Pidge’s hair as she walked him back to the kitchen table. He nodded at Nyma, who smiled dazzlingly in response, and he glanced over at where Keith sat beside Hunk, the backpack on his lap and a mug cradled in his hands. 

Pidge pulled out a chair for Shiro before claiming her own next to him. The blank space over the bridge of his nose reminded Keith of what Shiro used to look like, but the differences were still there. His stubble was still on the verge of a full-grown beard, and his skin was far darker now than it was two years ago. The white patch of hair fell over his forehead, and divided the space where his sharp, calculating eyes met Keith’s before shifting to Nyma.

“Thank you. For letting us stay here and for dealing with our problems,” he said with a gracious smile.

“And I would do it all again just for the sake of seeing Keith lose his cool once in a while,” Nyma said, grinning deviously at Keith. He scowled back before taking a sip of his tea and looking away.

  


  


That night, after Nyma retired to her bed that was hidden behind a patchwork of tapestries, Hunk removed Rover from the backpack. They had fed the drake chips of egg throughout the day to keep her docile, and she spent the night quietly curled up against Hunk’s shoulder. Pidge went to one of the windows and opened it in search of the raven named Pilot. He left when all the ruckus happened, but failed to return. “Don’t worry about Pilot,” Keith told her, urging her to close the window. “She’ll be fine out on her own. A lot of the ravens come and go as they please.” 

“It’s kind of cold out for birds now, don’t you think?” she asked, and Keith shrugged in response. The ravens tended to spend the winters in the shed, as far as Keith knew. He couldn’t call himself a raven expert. 

In the end, Pidge spread out her sleeping mat between Hunk and Lance, who remained awake long after Keith conked out.

At some point in the middle of the night, Keith woke to the feel of something budging into his shoulder. Keith was about to shove Lance back to the bounds of his own sleeping mat before realizing that he was wide awake and simply trying to get Keith’s attention. Once realizing that his eyes were open and he was now conscious, Lance whispered, “Hey, I have a question.”

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?” Keith groaned under his breath. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and sighed, “What is it?”

Keith turned his face to see Lance laying on his side, looking at Keith. He wondered how long Lance laid like that before deciding to nudge Keith awake.

He watched as Lance swallowed hard before saying, “You remember when I was possessed, right?” Of course Keith remembered—he could hardly forget the state he found them all in, and the wretched galra bastard leering at him from the other side of the shop door. He nodded solemnly, silently. Lance rubbed his finger against the edge of his blanket before continuing, not looking at Keith. “I… didn’t remember much of it until Nyma threw us into… _their world_.”

“And? That’s what is bothering you?” Keith said, and Lance nodded. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it—as far as I know, there aren’t any hosts around here anymore.”

“That isn’t the problem, not really,” he whispered, eyebrows curving into a concerned, almost distressed line. “I… um, when I was possessed and I saw you in the room I just sort of _lost control_. I wasn’t exactly seeing _you_ , but this… weird, _terrifying_ image of you. I wouldn’t even call it an image. It was like a memory, but it was _right there in front of me_ and I can’t get it out of my head.”

Keith watched as Lance buried the heel of his palm against his eyes and murmured, “It’s awful—I can’t stop seeing it now.”

Hesitantly, he decided to ask, “What was it of?”

At this Lance pulled his hand away from his eyes, and Keith found that the minimal light in the room caught on the glistening moisture over the whites of Lance’s eyes. He breathed in shakily and said, “It… it was of you covered in cuts and fresh slice-wounds from head to toe. And you were bleeding profusely, and your eyes were _yellow_ —like Nyma’s when she was possessed. But the weirdest thing was- was how I _felt_? Like… I had this uncontrollable urge to—I don’t know. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t say it. I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“Blood staining clothes often means a sign of early death,” Keith murmured softly, to which Lance groaned, “That doesn’t make me feel _any better_.”

They fell silent for a moment as Keith donned a thoughtful expression, pinching his lip between his fingers. Eventually, he said, “What did you feel like? When you saw me like that?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s for science, Lance.”

“But you’re my _mentor_ —I can hardly believe I even… Stop looking at me like that, all right? I will tell you. It was on the verge of murder and lust and I know those are two _incredibly_ different emotions but there was literally no in between.”

“That makes sense though,” Keith said. “It fits our theory that galra retain memories.”

“Are you serious? Are you accusing me of—” Lance blurted out, but Keith quickly slapped his hand over Lance’s mouth to shut him up. 

“I’m not accusing you of wanting to have sex with me,” he hissed under his breath, barely even loud enough to be heard. “The galra that possessed you retained memories from _Shiro_ , not _you_. And so far every possession we’ve encountered, and every encounter I have had with them, aligns with that idea.”

Keith removed his hand from Lance’s mouth, and the lad quickly rubbed his hand all over his face to rid it of Keith’s cooties. Keith rolled his eyes and said, “So that explains why you tackled the galra and sent us both over the counter.”

“Yeah, that pretty much explains it, huh?” Lance muttered sourly. “It was the same one that took over the cat that possessed me. I recognized him as soon as we entered their dimension.”

Keith found Lance’s actions to be an oddly reassuring sentiment, and he wasn’t quite sure how to react to it. He found himself looking down at his blanket and pushing back the heat rising in his face. It wasn’t often Keith found others willing to sacrifice themselves for him. But it seemed Lance didn’t register it as that. It was just a normal, instinctive response. Not something Lance would look into. 

So Keith didn’t bring it up beyond this: “Well… that was uncharacteristically nice of you to shove me over a counter for my own good.”

“ _Uncharacter_ — Uncharacteristically, really? You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that?” Lance whined, and Keith laughed a little under his breath, turning onto his back.

He smiled cheekily as he turned on his side. “Goodnight, Lance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Badass Lance is the only Lance I want in my life. Next to caring, wild, and self-sacrificing Lance. Lance is the Hinata of the Voltron volleyball team AMIRIGHT. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the thing-a-majig down below! :D


	15. { the minstrel }

The following day, Keith woke up to the feeling of a heat source leaving his side. He found that at sometime during the night, he and Shiro had rolled off their mats and laid against each others’ sides. Blurry-eyed, Keith watched Shiro stand up, ankles cracking lightly as he strolled across the apartment and into the bathroom. 

After a moment, he looked over to where Lance had his back to Keith. He sat up straighter and found Pidge protected by a pillow wedged between her and Lance, and then the ultra-bright scales of Rover peaked out from underneath Hunk’s blanket, tail flicking. Keith rubbed his eyes, growing accustom to the faint, filtered light coming through the colored blinds over Nyma’s windows.

Shiro emerged from the bathroom and found Keith sitting up absently braiding back his hair. A gentle nod towards the kitchen encouraged Keith to finally get up, and follow Shiro away from the sleeping bodies. 

“Would you want to go out with me and get breakfast for the others?” Shiro asked, voice hushed. Keith nodded, and smiled a little as Shiro rubbed his hand against Keith’s cheek before moving in to press his lips to Keith’s forehead. 

Keith tilted his head up as Shiro pulled away. He gingerly tugged on Shiro’s wrist and urged an _actual_ kiss—one he hadn’t been able to have these past few days. Regardless of their morning breath, and languid, sleepy motions, Keith felt at once awake. That familiar giddy sensation tugged at his chest as they pulled away, and Shiro smiled down at him.

They geared up to brave the chilly morning air, and just as they were about to head down the hall to the door, Keith hesitated at the sight of something moving by his sleeping friends. A shock of yellow gracefully scurried over the blankets and hurried across the concrete like a snake. Shiro chuckled at Rover as she huffed out steam from her nostrils and leapt for their legs.

“Hungry?” Shiro murmured, and reached inside Keith’s pant pockets as if it was an average, everyday affair. He pulled out the bag of Rover’s nutty treats and raised his eyebrows at the small drake. She danced frantically around them, and Keith could barely contain his laughter as Shiro taunted her, and managed to get her to calm down before lowering his hand. She clung to his fingers and devoured the treats, and continued to hang from his hand even as he pulled it up. 

“I’ll get the backpack,” Keith whispered, laughing a little.

And so, they packed Rover into the backpack and left the apartment. Keith was familiar with the streets, though it had been _years_ since he last visited the city. A lot had changed. For one, Keith recalled his favorite food market and when they arrived, they found that it was now someone’s house. They wandered the streets until finding a teahouse where Shiro offered to buy a pot of black tea to wake them up.

They sat at one of the tables inside and discretely fed Rover snacks for several minutes before Keith noticed that Shiro was staring at him. “What is it?” he asked.

Shiro folded his hands together on the tabletop and shook his head a little. “I was just… last night I did a lot of thinking. And I—I guess I realized how much you mean to me. Even after I left I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was impossible to forget you, all that time.”

“I have to admit you aren’t alone there,” Keith admitted, resting his chin against his hand, his free hand absently linked between the wires of Rover’s cage. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed as hell at you.”

“And I don’t expect you to forgive me that easily, or to forgive me at all,” Shiro confessed. “I already knew you meant the _world_ to me, but after yesterday… and seeing Nyma like that—It really got to me. And I _saw_ Lance like that, but this was different. I felt like the world would end if I witnessed you die like that when there was nothing I could do. And it was _all my fault_ —It was all my fault—”

“You smacked Nyma upside the head with an _iron pan_ ,” Keith said, laughing to himself. “I think that qualifies as doing something.”

“But the fact that she was able to reanimate a corpse, Keith,” Shiro insisted, sounding distressed. He dropped his gaze, eyebrows scrunched together. “If she had turned on _me_ , I wouldn’t know what to do. It was just because she was so focused on you two that I was even able to knock her out. If she was able to control a corpse, she could have controlled you, or Lance, or—”

“It doesn’t work like that, Shiro,” Keith insisted, reaching a hand out to hold his firmly. “Nyma can’t control people, Shiro. She can control what once _was_ a person—body or otherwise—but she can’t control them when they’re contained in the same body. Controlling an entire person requires that the sorcerer be able to seize them physically, spiritually, and in some cases mentally as well. She can only control one at a time.”

Shiro didn’t raise his eyes as he let his thumb brush over Keith’s knuckles and say, “So… when you stopped me from touching you, the day I came back—or when you held back Nyma yesterday—you were controlling…?”

“Physically and mentally,” Keith explained. “Controlling someone is more than just physically moving their limbs or lack thereof. You could have been able to break out of it had I not convinced your brain that you couldn’t move or do anything about it. Most of the effect comes from telling your brain to hold your hand where it is rather than me physically moving it.”

After saying it aloud, in such a blunt manner with Shiro staring at him like that, he found that admitting it made him feel self-conscious and embarrassed. As if he’d done something wrong. “That’s… one of the reasons I don’t do it often. Because it’s abusive to control the way another person thinks.”

Shiro bowed his head and clasped both of his hands around Keith’s. He raised them up to kiss his fingers, and said, “It’s a defense mechanism. I don’t blame you for using it, especially when you know that it’s wrong outside necessary situations.”

Keith managed a soft smile. “Thank you,” he said.

“And I deserved it, when I came back. I shouldn’t have expected anything less,” Shiro added, chuckling as Keith scoffed his agreement. They dissolved into laughter, and Keith was enamored by the way Shiro’s eyes crinkled, and how genuine his laugh was. The morning couldn’t have started any better.

  


  


They went to a bakery and ordered food for the group. When they returned to Nyma’s apartment, Keith drew his finger across her apartment door and let them in. Inside, they found everyone wide awake and looking frantic. Keith paused just beyond the hallway, and called out, “What’s going on?”

Everyone stopped what they were doing—Pidge was on the floor looking underneath a couch when Shiro and Keith came back, and Lance was looking through all of the blankets on the floor. Nyma was still asleep. 

Hunk popped out of the kitchen looking teary-eyed and distressed until the second Keith slung off his backpack and sat it gently on one of the kitchen chairs. “Oh my gods, are you serious?” Lance hissed from across the room. 

Hunk lunged for the backpack and instantly picked Rover up out of it. “There you are! We were looking everywhere for you—yes we were, _yes we were_!”

As Hunk nuzzled his nose against the steam rising from Rover’s nose, Pidge marched up to Shiro and Keith and punched them both in the arm. Keith was shocked by the force behind it and rubbed at his arm as she snapped, “Leave a note next time, will you?”

“Yeah, we woke up to Hunk sobbing, honestly,” Lance whined, approaching them. Keith looked apologetically over to Hunk, but the big man was wholly invested in Rover. Lance rubbed his fingers to his temple, saying, “Talk about a heart attack—I thought someone died.”

“Sorry about that,” Hunk apologized, smiling sheepishly as he let Rover perch herself on his shoulder. He rubbed her scales absently as he sniffed the air and pointed to the bag in Shiro’s hand. “What do you have in there?”

“Keith and I picked up breakfast,” Shiro explained, opening the bag and setting out packets of pastries. Pidge clapped her hands in excitement and as they started eating, Keith heard the faint sound of blankets being tossed aside. He reached for Rover and swiped her back into the backpack just seconds before Nyma emerged from behind the tapestry hiding her bed from view. 

She greeted everyone with an ecstatic, “Morning everyone! Hope you all slept well!”

They piped in with happy, casual responses as Nyma slid into a chair and swiftly tied her hair back into a knot. Just as she was tightening it, she winced and pressed faintly to a spot on the back of her head. “Ow—okay, I don’t remember a bump being here yesterday,” she said. Keith looked accusingly over at Shiro, who pursed his lips and kept them shut. 

Instead, Shiro reached for a bag and handed it over. “We got breakfast for you,” he said, successfully distracting her from the fact that she took a frying pan to the head. 

She took a bite before turning to Keith. “Considering my experiment is ruined, I guess you’re off the hook— _this time_. If I find you lingering around again, don’t doubt that I expect my payment.”

Keith smiled slyly, knowing that it was not likely he’d ever come around here again. If everything went well, Keith wouldn’t be returning to Terra for quite some time.

  


  


They left the city the following day at approximately the ass-crack of dawn. Normally Keith wouldn’t be so opposed to waking up early, but the days spent traveling prior to arriving at Nyma’s apartment were still weighing his limbs down. They stopped at the well one last time—the third time since entering the city—and once again had to deal with the fact that people _still_ managed to recognize Keith as he replenished his magick supply. By then the word had gotten around, and he found a lot of younger kids peering in through the foyer of the well atrium, gathering at the entrance and whispering as they watched him attempt to focus on getting back the magick he lost.

Following the ritual, Keith pushed himself up to his feet and searched for his friends. He found them easily enough, surrounded by curious bystanders. He rolled his eyes at the sight of Lance drinking in the attention, and Hunk was practically holding him back from running off with the pretty girl with earthy markings across her hands. 

Keith took back the backpack from Shiro and shouldered it, avoiding eye contact with the people around them. Source wells were normally a quiet place to congregate, but today it seemed there was a constant hum of whispers and questions being targeted towards Keith. It reminded him of why he never settled in at the city.

Pidge and Hunk held Lance by both arms as they exited the atrium and hurried down the steps of the building. As they went, Shiro informed Keith of where they’d be heading—he gathered intel from a few of the sorcerers in the well atrium suggesting that a minstrel was heading south of the city. “We could hitch a ride with them if we get there in time.”

“Minstrels are a little too ecstatic for my taste,” Keith confessed, “but my feet are still killing me so why the hell not.”

Behind him Lance called over his shoulder, “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer—I’ll write to you—! I promise!” Keith winced a little at the sound of Lance’s adoring fans giggling behind their hands. He could hardly believe Lance was capable of acting like that when Hunk looked like he was seriously considering smacking Lance upside the head.

Pidge howled with laughter as they escaped the attention of the sorcerers at the well. They turned the corner of the street and she slapped her hand on her knee and said, “I’ve never seen anything quite as hilarious as that.”

“What? I was just making friends,” Lance snapped.

“The level of desperation was _off the charts_.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen so many sorcerers—don’t judge! Stop looking at me like that!” Lance exclaimed, pressing his hands to the side of his face, and then covering his reddened cheeks from Pidge’s mocking grin. “If the only sorcerer you’ve ever had contact with was Keith, then _you’d know what I’m talking about!_ ”

Keith rolled his eyes but chose not to argue him on that. He’d already determined something like this would happen—he couldn’t tell if sheltering Lance from this sort of atmosphere was a good thing, or a bad thing. For one, Keith suspected the fact that Lance hadn’t the slightest idea of Keith’s history made teaching the kid easier. At least then he didn’t have to worry about a starstruck apprentice.

They navigated the streets with relative ease thanks to Keith’s memory of it. It took nearly half an hour to walk to the south side, where they were confronted with the task of finding the minstrel. It wouldn’t be hard—they tended to stand out with their wild colors and elaborate traveling booths.

The south side of the city adjoined the river valley, and the raised stone marketplaces lining the edge of the water. Shiro said that the minstrel would be on the East Side, thankfully, otherwise they would have to take a ferry across the river. They stood near a ledge overlooking the market and the water, and he found Hunk marveling at the harbor, and the boats that came and went from it.

“Can we go down and see?” he asked. “It’s been ages since I’ve been on a boat.”

“I’ve never even been on a boat,” Lance whined. “Can we?” They chanted obnoxiously until Keith pressed his fingers to his temples and relented. Hunk and Lance high-fived in excitement, acting like they were prepared to leap off the ledge and straight into the marketplace.

“Only for a little while—any longer than ten minutes and I’m leaving without you,” he warned, and off they went. Pidge snickered after them, folding her arms over her chest.

“Amateurs. You can pick out rural folks _easily_ ,” she said, and Keith laughed in response.

“Let them have their fun. It’s not every day they get to see harbors this size,” Shiro said. “When I was younger and I first came to the city, I have to admit I acted similarly.”

“ _Similarly_?” Keith repeated, laughing. “You were _exactly_ like them, maybe worse.”

“You knew Shiro when he first came to the city?” Pidge commented, and Keith shrugged noncommittally.

“A little. Allura paid for my general education when I was a teenager. We went to sister universities—meaning that I was in the sorcery school and Shiro was in the customary school,” Keith explained, and after a moment added, “A lot of the customary kids were intolerant of magick coming into the school. And it wasn’t so much that they were _against it_ because they couldn’t use it—”

“I know what you mean. I was in a university similar to that,” Pidge said with a shrug. “Our school would partner up customary kids with kids from the sorcery college as a means of making them less resentful towards sorcerers, and sorcerers more understanding of regular kids. It worked—for the most part.”

“Did you have friends from a sorcery college?” Keith asked, _Because that would explain a lot_.

“I did. They didn’t really talk about their practices outside of class so I wasn’t able to talk to them a whole lot about it. They were just… normal people,” she confessed, rubbing her arm. “And by the time I thought to ask about magick, it just made me feel… incredibly ignorant. So I never brought it up. But is that what your school did? Partnering up customary and sorcery kids?”

“Yes. Keith was my sorcery counterpart,” Shiro said, nodding towards Keith, who grinned at the memory of it. Shiro scratched the back of his neck, an embarrassed smile spreading across his lips. “I was a bit of an asshole, in all honesty. Hence the rural students being resentful towards sorcerers.”

“Yes, but you had reason to be,” Pidge countered, and Keith didn’t respond to it. He knew it was incredibly prejudice of him to not agree with Pidge, to convince himself that what happened to Shiro before university could have happened to anyone with or without magick abilities. Guiltily, he remembered when Shiro first told him about it, and how Keith _argued_ with him about it. It wasn’t something Keith should have been arguing at that point. He should have been sympathetic, and he wasn’t at first. 

Pidge cleared her throat awkwardly, recognizing the tenseness in Keith’s facial features. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.

“It’s fine,” Shiro said. “It’s something we have always disagreed on.”

“But I shouldn’t be so one-sided,” Keith argued, eyes on the ground. “And you know I do not agree with sorcerers abusing their magick. Not all sorcerers are good, and the gangs that threaten powerless towns are definitely _not good_.”

“And it could have been anyone, I know,” Shiro sighed, repeating what Keith always told him. Sorcerers weren’t the only ones who joined gangs and abused powerless people—there were plenty of other groups of people who wronged others.

They fell silent as Keith thought about how it must have been. Shiro had been a kid when the sorcerers swindled his people of money and goods. There wasn’t much he _could have done_. He couldn’t have prevented the sorcerers from killing his brother.

Keith looked at Shiro briefly and found the man already watching him. He swallowed hard and looked away. He never should have tried to convince Shiro that not all sorcerers were bad, because not all sorcerers were good, either. Shiro had all the reason in the world to be skeptical of sorcerers, or anyone for that matter.

He gracelessly cleared his throat and managed to say, “I wish I could have met him. Your brother.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have met if he was still alive,” Shiro said. “He always wanted me to go to his alma mater. I probably would have gone there for primary and secondary schooling if he had anything to do with it.” He laughed lightly, and nudged Keith’s arm. Keith nudged him right back. 

Pidge sighed lightly and said, “It really sucks, you know? It sucks that your first experiences with sorcerers was through a gang of extortionists.”

“That’s very true. But look at where I ended up because of it?” Shiro said, throwing an arm over Keith’s shoulders and reeling Pidge towards him. They squished into a group hug that elicited a delighted giggle from Pidge. Ambivalent, Keith wrapped his arms around the both of them, and let his head fall over Pidge’s, and press against Shiro’s collarbone. This was fine.

He could barely see between Shiro’s arm and Pidge’s hair, but what he did see was the perfect frame to pick out a wild purple cloth being tossed into the back of a cart. It was on the edge of the harbor, crowded with kids from the city tossing their pennies into the minstrel’s hat. Keith gasped and ducked out of the group hug, pointing to it. 

“There he is!” Keith shouted, “Come on! It looks like he’s about to leave—”

Pidge perked up saying, “What? Really?” as Shiro grabbed her by the arm and steered them in the direction of the stone steps crowded with people from the market. Keith dodged and weaves through the crowd, his eyes following the purple flag peaking out of the top barrel of the minstrel’s cart. 

Along the way, their disappearing act caught the attention of Hunk and Lance from where they stood on the docks talking to one of the captains. Lance pointed to where he could see the fleck of Shiro’s white hair and soon they were both off in their direction, heading towards the cart making its journey down the harbor. Midway between, Lance and Hunk collided with Shiro, Pidge, and Keith, asking where they were going. The haste to make it to the minstrel on time sent the crowd splitting in front of them, and avoiding the bunches of kids that stood around eating treats from the stands.

At the end of the harbor there was a dusty brick road that the minstrel stopped at with his cart, and hooked it to a horse drawn wagon accompanied by several other folks. They all sat along the stone ledges lining the marketplace, and the group approached them, panting from the run. 

Shiro approached the minstrel as the man emerged from behind the wagon, strapping on a pair of heavy leather gloves. “Howdy-doo, fellas! What can I do for you?” the minstrel said, and flashed them what Keith considered to be the wildest damn smile he’d ever come to witness—which was really saying something since he spent a lot of time around Lance to begin with. It sent the minstrel’s orange mustache curling, and unruly eyebrows up.

“We—We heard that you and your group are moving south,” Shiro explained, gesturing as if to accommodate for the fact that he was still trying to catch his breath. “It would really help us out if you’d let us tag along. We won’t cause you any trouble.”

The minstrel didn’t seem all that concerned about anyone causing trouble. On the contrary, his smile hardly seemed to diminish as he took in the rest of the group. As he counted them off, he clasped his gloved hands together and swayed on his heels. “Well, I can’t say I’ll transport all five of you for free.”

“Of course not, we don’t expect you to,” Shiro answered. “We have money for the fare, and if you need any labour done we can do that as well.”

“Then it seems we have a deal! Put ‘er there,” the minstrel said, jutting out his hand. Shiro shook it and gave the minstrel his name. “Pleasure meeting you, Shiro. Just call me Coran.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM YODELING RIGHT ABOUT NOW Also I just had to slip in my favorite phrase even though it doesn't really fit the groove of the writing style: "the ass-crack of dawn" IT GETS ME EVERY TIME WITHOUT FAIL.
> 
> What I want to know is this: The second the word minstrel was mentioned, did you think it would be Coran, or anyone from the show? TELL ME I WANT TO KNOW I WANT TO KNOW HOW THIS CLIFFHANGER AFFECTED YOUR LIVES.


	16. { the counterpart }

They left the city almost as soon as the deal was struck between Shiro and Coran. They climbed into the back of Coran’s wagon along with a friendly-looking gal and a scraggly-looking man smoking a cigar. Keith found himself watching the puffs of smoke from it wisp out of the wagon and spin into the breeze. But over all, the fella with the cigar didn’t show much expression on his face, and for the most part he zoned out staring directly across from him over the lip of the wagon wall. 

The girl was nice enough, though. Keith didn’t talk to her much, but that didn’t stop the others from engaging in conversation. She knitted throughout the trip, claiming to be making a sweater for her brother. “That’s where we’re stopping next, you see,” she said. “In my hometown.”

“Really? And where’s that?” Hunk asked.

“Bulma. It’s _just_ over the Balmeran border,” she said. “But we have a few stops along the way closer to the Arusian mountain range. We aren’t staying long at any of those stops, are we Rollo?” Her question was answered with a stiff affirmative and a puff of smoke. It drifted past Pidge’s face, and she lifted a hand to twirl the smoke around her finger before it flitted away.

“What’s your name again?” Keith asked, shifting in his seat as a bump in the road sent them all swaying.

“Shay,” she answered, smiling so that her cheeks seemed to blossom beneath her eyes. 

“How long have you been hanging around Coran?” Hunk asked. “He seems like a swell guy.”

“Well thanks a bunch, Hunk!” a voice called from the front: Coran, manning the wagon. Lance chuckled from where he sat between Hunk and Shiro, backpack propped between his legs.

“He came through our town a while back. I was probably fifteen years old,” she said, partially focusing on her knitting now. “I… wanted to see the world, and he was looking for a helper. So here I am! Four years later.”

“And what about you, Rollo?” Hunk asked, and the lad shrugged, plucking his cigar out of his mouth. He leant his forearm against one propped-up knee.

“Just hitching a ride. Looking for work, mostly,” Rollo said. “I used to live in the north not too long ago. The isolation up there just wasn’t suited for my tastes.”

“What do you do? For work, anyway,” Shiro asked, and the man shrugged.

“I built this wagon for Coran,” he said. “When we met his old one was breaking down—the axels were bent and it broke down a few miles away from my town. I fixed it up under the condition that he give me a ride out of there.”

“And I don’t regret it one bit! No-sir,” Coran called out from the front. Even Keith couldn’t help but smile at that. The lad rolled his eyes and stuck the cigar back between his lips, signaling that his story time session was over. 

“What about you guys?” Shay inquired, looking to Hunk who cleared his throat dramatically and began the story Keith hadn’t bothered listening to before now. He’d heard plenty of second-hand tales of Hunk’s arrival, just based off of the love and support Keith’s patients gave Hunk and his bakery.

“My father was a baker, so I grew up learning to cook and bake and run the shop when he wasn’t there,” Hunk started, “I came from a family of a _lot_ of kids, and because I wasn’t the first I wouldn’t inherit the shop. So left when I was seventeen and worked here and there to save money along the way to the town Keith lived in. Once I had enough, I settled down and made my own bakery.”

“Then what are you doing so far away from home?” Shay asked, eyes wide. “What about your bakery?”

“An apprentice from another town is running it now. I had the space and they were looking for a place to work permanently,” Hunk explained with a casual shrug and a gifted smile. “And I don’t mind leaving it behind. I know they’ll do well by my name.”

“And what about you, Lance?” Shay asked, gesturing to him next. He donned a surprised look and pointed to himself. She nodded, encouraging him to talk.

“Well… um…” Lance started, glancing over at Hunk and then to Keith before saying, “I’m an apprentice. Keith’s, actually. For sorcery.”

“Really?” Rollo uttered, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Impressive.”

“I should have known you two were sorcerers—but then again, gloves do cover up your marks,” Shay said, and plucked off her fingerless gloves to display her squarish hands, and the flat white lines spiraling around her palm. Lance gawked at them, reaching across the floor to turn her hand around and see how the marks branched out across the tops of her fingers, like the roots of a tree. “My entire family has magick. It helps with the farm and such, being able to grow plants and tend to them without much difficulty,” she explained.

Lance crawled over to sit alongside her, already pushing up the sleeve of his jacket. “I just got my marks a little while ago. See?”

“They’re beautiful,” Shay said, smiling. “Aren’t they always so beautiful? I love studying others’ marks. You are very clearly a free spirit.”

“You aren’t wrong there,” Keith scoffed, earning a nudge in the boot from Shiro in the process.

“I don’t know much about them yet,” Lance confessed. “But your’s are… earth?”

Shay giggled and said, “That would be correct. And you have a water spirit.”

“Keith did say it was pretty obvious,” he murmured with a laugh. “But I’m a bit late on the whole sorcery thing. I’ve only been learning for about a year now.”

“Really? That’s surprising,” Shay said. “But there’s nothing wrong with that. I suppose it is different for me because I was raised to embrace magick before I was even able to tap into it.”

“That’s lucky,” Lance told her, smiling as he looked down at his marks again. He pulled the sleeve over them again before nodding to Keith. “He runs an apothecary—well, _did_. His teacher runs the store now that we’re gone. Her name is Allura. She’s incredible.”

“I believe you. And an apothecary? You must be good with plants then,” she commented, and leaned over as if to whisper to Hunk, “I love plants.”

“Plants are beautiful things,” Hunk agreed.

“And what about you, Pidge?” Shay asked, “Tell me about yourself.”

“Well… I went to university for geology and now I’m just traveling the world like you, I guess. I’m Shiro’s apprentice—we were mapping Arus before coming back to Terra,” Pidge explained with a delightful smile pushing her cheeks up against the rim of her specs. Shay set down her knitting needles to clap excitedly for Pidge. “Before then I lived in the city with my mom, dad, and brother. My parents worked at the same university my brother and I attended.”

“That is excellent. It makes me so happy to hear you all are so well educated,” Shay gushed, pushing her hands to her cheeks as if overwhelmed by the news. “I myself never went to school for general education. But I learn so much from Coran, he could be considered my mentor.”

“Surprisingly, I know a lot about the world,” Coran called over his shoulder, flashing them a brazen smile.

When the conversation dwindled out, the silence was tolerable. Keith listened to the sound of the wagon’s wheels turning, clunking over rocks and dirt. He could listen to the way the breeze ruffled the trees. Watch soft flecks of snow drift from the grayish-white sky. The snow here didn’t accumulate as much as it did in the north, and he was reminded of the fact that Rover was sound asleep in the backpack between his legs. He squeezed it tighter to him, and did so until Coran called out that they’d be stopping for the night at a hostel.

“The owner and I go _way_ back. Sit tight and I’ll get us all rooms half price,” he told them as the wagon pulled to a stop in the lawn of a comfy-looking cabin. Keith looked over his shoulder at it before glancing back at the group. Shiro raised his brows and smiled, wordlessly saying that the trip was going better than expected. Keith was just thankful that they picked a minstrel—they were less likely to kill them all and steal their gear.

Rollo was the first to get up. He grabbed the edge of the wagon and swung his feet over, landing swiftly on the ground with his long legs. Shay let out a soft sigh, followed by a yawn as she packed up her knitting supplies. “I could go for a nice hot soup. Shall we?” 

Exiting the wagon, Shiro helped Shay down, and regardless of Keith’s opposition, grabbed him by the waist and brought him to the ground. Hunk hopped down after Keith as Shiro grabbed both of Pidge’s hands and swung her off the wagon as she laughed, “ _Wee!_ It feels like I’m flying!”

“My turn!” Lance said, lunging towards Shiro. Shiro looked trapped as Lance slammed into him, arms wrapped around his neck as the momentum sent them both spinning. 

“Warn me a little next time,” Shiro said, setting Lance down and straightening his jacket.

Coran returned to sweep them all inside and arrange for the rooms. “We’ll only need two,” Shiro said, and before Pidge could argue that she wanted her own room, the deal was done. She pouted, arms folded as she glowered at Shiro. He merely shrugged, as if to say, “What can I do?”

“I don’t want to be stuck with the lovebirds,” she complained quietly to him. “Don’t stick me with Lance and Hunk either.”

Shiro ruffled her hair as they all started down the hallway. Keith fell in step behind them, picking up on the distinct taste in the air that something was cooking and calling his name. Shay was right: a bowl of soup _did_ sound fantastic.

  


  


When Keith was just barely twelve, Allura took him back to the city. It wasn’t that he detested it—he just preferred the quiet of the town he and Allura lived in now. He never realized how noisy the world was until Allura split him from the city. The rashness that made other sorcerers wary of Keith vanished almost as soon as he left the city for the first time. He recalled Allura saying that it was the magick, amplifying the things around him. “Living in the city _is_ noisy, but it will be better this time. You have far more control over your magick than I could have ever dreamed for.”

“Then why aren’t you letting me stay with you,” Keith asked, shaking out of the hand she kept on his shoulder. He turned on her, fists tight at his side. “If I work hard I can teach myself maths and such back at home—I don’t need other teachers. I just need _you_.”

It wasn’t exactly the most ideal place to have an argument about this. Keith knew that, and perhaps that’s why he did it: to make Allura flustered enough out of shock and embarrassment to just cave in and bring him back home. However, if he knew one thing about Allura, it was this:

She was always one step ahead of him.

A hard, resolute expression took over her face. It sent her jaw ticking as she stared only at him, and not the parents and students watching them out of the corner of their eyes. She ducked down to Keith’s eye level and grasped both of his shoulders firmly. “You will be fine without me. This is only until summer—and when you come back home then, you tell me whether or not you want to stay here. All right? Tell me you understand, I need to hear you say it.”

Stubborn as always, Keith merely set his teeth tight and glowered at her. The silence between them was tense until she realized that Keith wouldn’t be saying anything. The silent treatment. The stiff air broke when Allura sighed out and dropped her hands to her knees. “Either way, Keith, I am leaving. I will see you when I come back next summer.”

With that, she turned to leave him, with his suit cases and satchel. The farther she walked, the larger the lump in his throat got. He didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want her to leave him. _He didn’t want her to leave him alone here_. She was the only person he ever cared to be comfortable around. She was the only person he cared about.

Abandoning his suitcases, Keith ran across the foyer atrium, quick, light steps barely making a sound until he collided with Allura’s back and hugged her close. “I don’t want you to go,” he murmured, the words muffled into her light autumn coat, and the wooly scarf that tickled his cheek. He felt her hands close over his, and she patted them fondly.

She turned around in his grasp and bent down to kiss his forehead. “I left you a little something in your luggage, to remember me by. I’ll send you letters as long as you do the same for me. It will be all right. It will be all right, Keith.”

After Allura left for good, Keith returned to his luggage refusing to let the heat build behind his eyes and spill over. Instead, he adjusted the strap of his satchel and picked up his two suitcases, and started off in the direction of his new dormitory.

The dormitories were old, but considered a classic by those who lived by and swore by the school Keith attended: Devereux. Most of the dormitories were split to accommodate lovely things called “learning communities” which essentially segregated the customary kids from the sorcery ones. Keith didn’t mind it so much, and it didn’t seem to affect his time there. He stayed off the radar for most of the year until somehow word got around that he was the apprentice to the infamous Allura from Altea. 

Keith had never been to Altea, like many people in his generation. At that point, there weren’t many people left from the country that fell under natural phenomenon that involved sinking over half of the land into the ocean. The natural disasters that were already a problem in that country took its toll nearly thirty years prior to Keith’s enrollment in Devereux. Rising seawater levels—erosion—earthquakes. A lot of people from Terra called it the modern day Atlantis.

Allura was an infant when her parents came to Terra. “So technically she never _really_ lived there,” Keith would tell his peers when asked what Altea was like. “She _maybe_ spent the first two months of her life in Altea.”

“Does she have white hair?”

“What about the Altean marks?”

“Can she really levitate?” 

Keith heard all those questions dozens of times throughout the semester. Somehow, Allura had managed to sabotage Keith’s desire for peace and quiet when she wasn’t even _in_ the city. He would write her furious letters about it, and receive responses in return that were along the lines of, “Glad you’re making friends!” 

One thing that Keith was thankful for was the fact that his room was simply _his_ room. Single rooms cost more, but Allura was willing to pay the fee that would provide Keith a space of his own. He never did do well sharing rooms. It was a small room regardless, with nothing more than a desk, closet, and bed. The first week Keith spent there was mainly dedicated to cleansing the room thanks to Allura stashing a tin of herbs into his luggage. Soon, it started to smell like home.

Around the second week of classes, they were introduced to the program that would provide each sorcerer with a customary student counterpart. A lot of the classes were mixed between customary students and sorcery students, so it wasn’t like Keith never saw them. They all had the same maths classes, language, social sciences… but it didn’t mean Keith ever spoke to them. He had nothing against them, at least not until he was introduced to his counterpart.

As it happened, they congregated in one of the auditoriums where the speaker called out the names of two students, who would leave the auditorium to the room next door. Keith always dreaded being called out in class—and he had only been in class for no more than a week. As they went down the list of names, Keith sunk deeper into his chair, listening to his peers roll their eyes at the school’s formalities.

“As if we need help making friends,” the guy beside him said with a scoff. 

“Yeah, we see plenty of ‘em in classes.”

“I dunno, could be fun. More people to prank, the merrier,” someone said from the seat in front of him. Even Keith couldn’t help but snicker at the thought. He could never get away with pranking Allura back at home.

“Keith Kogane—Takashi Shirogane,” the speaker announced, and had he not been so anxious about it he would have completely missed the call. The kids around him _ooh_ ed as if he’d gotten into trouble, just for a laugh. Keith rolled his eyes at them as he side-shuffled out of the row.

He didn’t see this Takashi Shirogane until he was right at the exit, and the teacher there asked for his name. “Keith, this is Shiro. Fill this out—the both of you—and hand it to one of your professors.”

“Thanks,” Shiro said, plucking the paper out of her hands and stepping ahead of Keith. He was able to see that, even twelve years old, Shiro had some height on him. At the time his shoulders were a bit too broad for his narrow frame, but the uniform sweater seemed to fill the spaces.

They didn’t look at one another until they found a table, and sat across from one another. Keith wasn’t all that concerned about the whole “counterpart partnership” deal until he saw the bored, almost impatient look on Shiro’s face. He didn’t seem all that interested in _looking_ at Keith in the first place. 

“Right, so are you gonna right or shall I?” Shiro asked, voice bland and momentarily stunning Keith into silence. All he could manage was a shrug. “I’ll do it then. Full name?” 

“Just Keith Kogane.” Shiro looked up at him before turning his eyes down to the page, removing a pen from his pocket, and writing it in along with his own.

“Where do you live normally?” Shiro asked, and Keith answered. “I live in Canmore,” he said in response, not looking up from the page.

“That’s by the ocean, right?” Keith interrupted.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine you’ve been there—living so far up north and all,” he said.

“I’ve been to the ocean before,” Keith argued, narrowing his eyes. “My mentor and I traveled the coast two years ago. It’s beautiful there.”

Keith swore Shiro rolled his eyes then before saying, “I guess it depends on where you go. Tell me about your parents.”

“I don’t have any,” Keith answered, and the bluntness of it brought Shiro’s eyes up to his— _finally_. They were grey—and not the sort of dark, muddled brownish-grey. They were light, like an overcast day. Keith realized that Shiro was searching for some sort of apology for bringing it up, so Keith cleared his throat and said, “My mentor raised me, mostly. I was at one of those childcare shelters until I was five or so. So no: no parents. Just my mentor.”

“What are they like?” he inquired, folding his hands now over the page, attention on Keith.

“Her name’s Allura—she’s an apothecary, along with, like, a dozen other titles. But right now it’s just apothecary,” he explained, and settled his chin against his hand. “I really didn’t want to come here. She’s such a great teacher. What about you?”

“I don’t have a mentor—not really, anyways,” Shiro answered. “Sorcerers seem to get apprenticeships younger than people like me.”

“It’s just if their family members aren’t sorcerers to begin with,” Keith argued. “You just get to skip a step—because your parents are able to teach you everything that they know, unlike sorcerers whose parents don’t know anything about magick.”

Shiro was quiet for a moment, and Keith was already formulating a profile of him. The way his eyes tensed around the corners told Keith that the topic of sorcery and its mechanics were off limits now. The way he set his teeth told Keith that Shiro wasn’t thrilled about having a magick counterpart. He wasn’t thrilled with sorcerers at all.

“Tell me about your parents,” Keith said.

“Parent,” he corrected. “It’s just me and my mom. She, ah, distributes food and merchandise up and down the coast. Overseas.”

“So I’m guessing she isn’t around much then, huh?” Keith commented, and received a shrug in reply. “She gets to travel around in a ship. That’s pretty cool, in my opinion. Boats make me nauseous.”

Surprisingly, Shiro laughed, and it startled Keith. He released his own nervous laugh as Shiro said, “Yeah, well, the sea isn’t for everyone. One word to describe you. Mine would be… ‘ambitious’.”

“Independent.”

  


  


After dinner, Pidge, Hunk, and Shay went to explore the outdoors while there was still light out. Evidently, there was a barn full of cows farther off from the bed and breakfast, and Pidge was interested in the livestock. After they left, Lance retired to his and Hunk’s room and took a nap. The instant Keith bumped open his door with his hip, he felt Shiro’s arms circle around him and guide him in. Shiro kicked the door closed with his foot and swiftly locked it.

“Either way Pidge has a key,” Keith countered.

“Then we’ll have to finish before she gets back,” he said, silencing Keith with a long, measured kiss as he backed Keith down onto the bed.

They made quick work of shedding their clothes despite the chill in the room. Keith could feel the heat of his skin muting to a languid warmth that flared up at every brush of Shiro’s fingers—over his arms, across his chest, making lines down the bony edges of Keith’s hips. 

It didn’t entirely matter how fast or slow they went about their business—Keith craved it either way. He loved every bit of the way Shiro held him like his life depended on it, and the soft, incoherent murmurings passing over his lips—

Until a rapid knock hammered against their door. In an instant the sound of just about everything in the room clattered to the ground—even the dresser wobbled back into place. Keith pressed his forehead to Shiro’s shoulder, feeling the stickiness of Shiro’s sweat against his skin as he heard Lance shout from the other side of the door: “Stop making things levitate— _Keith!_ Don’t ignore me!”

Shiro chuckled, sounding breathless as he lowered himself to his elbows. “Are you gonna answer him or shall I?” he whispered, kissing Keith’s hair.

Keith groaned and shouted, “Don’t tell me what to do, _Lance!_ ”

“Then don’t put my bed three feet into the air!”

“Not my problem!”

“Open this door so I can _punch you in the face!_ ”

Shiro rolled off of Keith, now laughing hysterically even though Keith whined and tried to keep Shiro where he was. He wasn’t successful, and it just made him want to punch _Lance_ in the face. In the end, he heard Lance groan in frustration and march back to his room.

Keith sat up, scowling at Shiro, who couldn’t seem to wipe that smug look off his face. He shoved his hand against the side of Shiro’s face and hissed, “Oh, so you think this is funny?”

“ _Immensely_. I completely forgot that _this_ was a thing,” he said, dropping his arm to the side where the lounge chair in the room was tipped on its side, the blanket on it sprawled against the end table. Keith was glad Hunk had Rover’s backpack—he didn’t want to think about what Rover’s reaction would be to being flung three feet into the air. 

Smirking, Keith pushed his hand against Shiro’s shoulder again. “You know why it happens?” he said, swinging a leg over Shiro’s hips. Shiro hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side as Keith leaned in. He nearly laughed—which would have ruined the way he said, “Because I’m magical in bed.”

“I can’t—I can’t believe you just made a pun,” Shiro laughed, amused. “Since when did you make puns?” 

“It was a one-time thing.”

“Well, it was good. I approve of your pun-making abilities,” he said, shuffling a little underneath Keith. “We should probably get changed.”

“But Lance interrupted us.”

“Either way it really won’t take Pidge and Hunk that long to look at the cows and come back,” Shiro said, and Keith put his forehead to Shiro’s chest and groaned. Eventually, Shiro tipped them on their sides and swiftly swung his legs over the side of the bed. He collected his trousers in the mess of their clothes strewn across the room. When he found Keith’s, he tossed those onto the bed. Annoyed, Keith tugged them on and helped Shiro straighten out the room again.

He wandered over to the wall they shared with Hunk and Lance’s room after finishing his cleaning. When he pressed his ear to it and recalled the layout of the room itself, Keith was able to gather the general shape of Lance laying on the bed, presumably out cold.

“Don’t do it, Keith,” Shiro warned, but Keith was already reaching out to the bed on the other side of the wall. He tensed his fingers and raised them in a short, quick movement. A muffled scream made it through the wall, and Keith laughed, dropping Lance’s bed back down in time to hear the lad scramble out of it and run to their room again.

This time Keith opened the door before Lance even knocked on it. “Problem?” he said smugly, snickering as he saw Lance struggle to even get the words out.

“You… are _so lucky_ we aren’t staying in the same room because I would _so_ paint dicks all over your snobbish face,” Lance all but hissed through his teeth. “ _Stop making my bed levitate_! Also, put a shirt on. I don’t need to see that.”

With that said, Lance turned on his heels and marched away. Keith leaned out the door and shouted after him: “Then stop looking at my chest, pervert!”

Lance turned to him, halfway through his own door, eyes narrow, flustered. “You little—You’re the pervert!” He slammed the door behind him, and Keith stumbled back into his room, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the weekend! Which means more writing-! More drawings-! Honestly I might be posting once a day because this past week I went HARDCORE with writing shiz. 
> 
> If you didn't know, my first fic on this website was another fantasy AU! A few lovely peeps mentioned that they're liking the world building and such, and _[Galra Steel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7713844/chapters/17578972)_ takes place in a pretty intense fantasy world with POLITICS and WAR. High fantasy politics are my favorite goddamn thing. And same with Pidge-centric novels.
> 
> Speaking of high fantasy, I'd like to hear your favorite high fantasy books--fanfiction or otherwise! Hands down mine is the _Night Angels Trilogy_ by Brent Weeks. TALK ABOUT GAME OF THRONES ON STEROIDS AMIRIGHT.


	17. { the water bender }

When Keith was in Devereux the first year, he rarely spent any time in the customary kids dorms. He didn’t have many non-sorcerer friends, and it wasn’t like he had much of a friend group to begin with anyhow. He was mostly defaulted to groups because of their appreciation for him, and definitely not for the way he tended to scowl at people. Some might classify it as a resting bitch face.

But aside from being off-putting at first glance, Keith had a hunch that a lot of the guys didn’t really mind him all that much. They rarely picked on him, and if they did they were either playful about it or regretted it. That said, next to no one visited his own room, and he didn’t make a point to visit others until the teachers checked in on the counterpart pairings. 

His head professor suggested that he spend more time with Shiro. “Think of him as your study partner. He gets good marks in all his classes—you two could help one another.”

“Study partner,” Keith repeated, deadpan. In the end, he shrugged and made a note to look into it. Evidently there were subtle consequences that came with not taking advantage of the counterpart program: the class in which it was required would dock points if partners didn’t check in with one another. 

So the first time Keith ever went to the customary kid’s dormitory was with the intent of talking to Shiro. From their first conversation, they knew each others’ dorm room numbers, so that evening Keith hunted down Shiro’s room on the third floor and knocked on the heavy wooden door. 

When the door opened, the sound of laughter came through it. Shiro was paying attention to someone else in the room, but when he turned, his amusement faded to surprise. “Uh… Keith? What are you doing here?”

It wasn’t unusual for Keith to feel embarrassed by conversation, but the fact that whoever was in Shiro’s room could hear him made the effect all the worse. He stumbled to say, “I, um, my professor gave me a warning today about us not checking in. Would you—I mean, it’s not necessary, but I just—”

“Hey, did you say Keith?” someone called out from inside, accompanied by a, “Oh man! That your sorcerer _buddy?_ ”

Shiro rolled his eyes, now allowing the door to creak open a tad. He stepped to the side so Keith could see his friends. Shiro gestured dramatically to Keith and said, “There, you see him? Now lay off.”

The boys scrambled up off the ground. There were three of them, and they pushed around Shiro to see Keith. “Show us some of your _fire_ , magic boy, come on—just a little flame,” one of them chanted, begging dramatically in a way that the others quickly jumped in on.

Startled by the sudden attention, Keith’s already pink cheeks turned his ears red as well. He laughed nervously, stepping back from the door and saying, “I’ll talk to you later Shiro—I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He turned around and sensed that they weren’t letting up—instead, they came after him. He narrowly dodged having his arm snatched up by one of them as they said, “Aw, leaving so soon? What are you, _scared_?”

Keith glared at the kid mocking him. “I’m not scared,” he argued.

“Then show us some fire. What, can’t even start a flame?”

“He probably can’t—all those sorcerers study for years and can barely make a spark.”

From behind them, Shiro rolled his eyes and said, “I really don’t want to watch fireworks take down the building. This place is ancient enough as it is.”

“Aw, come on Shiro—you’re just saying that because you’ve already seen him in action.”

“ _In action_ , gods,” Shiro scoffed, chuckling. Keith stared at them all as if they were insane. Maybe this was why he avoided the customary dormitory in the first place.

“I’m gonna go now,” Keith said awkwardly, backing up and away from the blockade of Shiro and his friends. 

They returned their attention to him, and this time grabbed hold of his hands and reeled him back in. They were laughing and chanting for him to _Go on, make some fire_ —

One of guys pulled Keith’s face forward, gripping the sides of his jaw. “Come on, give us a spark, _fireboy_.”

Keith furiously yanked at his arms, which just seemed to make them twist harder on them. “Let go of me,” he hissed through clenched teeth, sharp eyes glaring daggers at the kid who held him by the jaw.

“What’re you gonna do?” he sneered back. “Burn my hand? Get expelled?”

The last time Keith felt his heart beat this fast was after Allura picked him up from the childcare shelter when he was five years old. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that both times he was scared out of his goddamn mind.

“I told you to let _go!_ ” Keith shouted, and the ferocity of it caused the kid to drop his hand from Keith’s face. 

“His arms are toasty—come feel this,” the one on his right said as Keith yanked at his arm to get away. Suddenly they were all touching him where his skin showed on his hands and forearms, and Shiro merely crossed his arms and donned a bored, uninterested look. Keith stared at him through it all.

“ _HEY!_ ” someone shouted from down the hall, and in an instant all the hands on Keith vanished. They scrambled back, scurrying around Shiro and back into the room. “You four—get out in this hall right now!” Keith froze up just at the sound of the commanding voice of the floor advisor. 

Keith folded his arms over his stomach and stepped to the side as their advisor lined them up in the hallway. The man then put a hand to Keith’s shoulder and said, “You all right, son?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered. “I… should get back to my dormitory, though.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” the advisor said, and, leaning close and lowering his voice, added: “Next time something like this happens, holler and one of us will hear you.”

Awkward enough as Keith was, he could hardly manage to speak a word, so he saved his voice with a curt nod and slowly backed away from the situation. He turned on his heels and started down the hall. Once in the stairwell, he practically flew down each floor and stopped just outside the customary student dormitory. His arms were shaking and he could hardly believe he was still standing. 

But they were right about one thing: his arms were hot as hell, and if his hands weren’t already warm he was certain his fingers would have burnt to a crisp.

  


  


Keith and his friends traveled for a week with Coran, Shay, and Rollo as company. The day before they went their separate ways, their wagon mounted the edge of a hill that overlooked the flat, flat land they would be traversing. But beyond it, just on the horizon, they could see the ridges of the Arusian mountains.

That week spent traveling showed a slow regression back into fall temperatures. They shed their winter coats at some point, and came to the conclusion that they wouldn’t be needing them in Arus. So, after reaching the town in which Coran and his group would stop, they left their coats behind. “Do with them as you will. We won’t be coming back for them,” Shiro told them. 

“Really now? Well, all right. I won’t argue the point any further,” Coran said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Won’t you just stick around for the evening? You’ll miss the show otherwise.”

“We really should get going,” Keith said. _Because, you know, mythical dragon, long journey ahead, and Arus is just over there…_?

“Just for a night—I’ll even hook you up with another free room at the inn,” Coran insisted, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the building behind them where he, Shay, and Rollo would be staying. They were behind the inn, where the stables were and the horses were corralled in. Keith found Shay smiling at all of them, her hands folded underneath her chin as if praying for them to stick around one more night. Coran’s curled mustache seemed to furl with the big grin he displayed to them. “When was the last time you saw a _real_ minstrelsy?”

Pidge pinched her fingers over her lips as if to keep from jumping to the chase, and Keith could see her excitement clearly. She was just as thrilled as any kid for the minstrel to perform. And she didn’t do a very good job of hiding it from Shiro—Lance’s excitement didn’t help much either. 

“Well… it _has_ been a while…” Shiro started, then catching sight of Keith’s disapproving glare. And did that stop Shiro? Not especially. “Just one more night couldn’t hurt.”

Lance yelped with excitement, grabbing Hunk’s arm as if to keep from flying straight into the clouds. Pidge leapt up, arms in the air. Shay giggled from behind Coran and murmured something about how adorable they all were. Keith was still glaring at Shiro for caving in to childish entertainment.

Shiro looked at him and gave an indecisive shrug. “What? When was the last time _you_ saw a minstrel?”

_They’re a waste of time_ , Keith thought to himself, but didn’t voice it considering Coran was standing no more than five paces away from them. “I just think we should get on the road as soon as possible,” he said instead.

“And we will— _after_ the show,” Shiro said, gesturing to Coran.

“You forget something,” Coran said, twisting a finger around his wildly orange mustache. “The show is accompanied by a feast thrown by the town. In other words, _we’ll be eating good tonight!_ ” He laughed heartily, throwing his arms up excitedly. Keith staggered forward after being bumped by Pidge, who was swept up by the arm and swung into a dancing circle with Hunk and Lance. Shay joined in, and Keith pointedly stepped away from them to avoid the party.

Coran wasn’t exaggerating when he said there would be a feast. It was still the morning when the minstrel arranged for two rooms for their group, and after getting settled in and freeing Rover from the confines of the backpack, Keith looked out the window of their room and cursed at the sight of what was conspiring in the middle square of the town.

“He really wasn’t kidding,” Shiro commented from behind. “That’s a little more than a feast.”

“It’s a damn festival. And they brought _Coran_ as entertainment?” Keith mused aloud, sounding unimpressed. 

Shiro chuckled, nudging him in the arm. “You never did tolerate fairs, did you?”

“Not particularly.” 

“Then at least _try_ and be festive today, all right? Even if that involves drinking heavily. Deal?” Shiro said, holding a hand out in front of Keith. He sneered at Shiro’s hand, but took it anyways. He felt Shiro’s chest push agains this back then, and he pressed his lips to the top of Keith’s head. “It’ll be fun, trust me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith said dismissively, tugging his hand free and waving Shiro off. He turned over to where Pidge was rifling through her backpack, with a patch of brilliant yellow perched on her shoulder. He walked over and scooped Rover up, letting her settle down in his arms as he set to work with her water dish. 

Lance and Hunk joined them in their room later, to see what was going on down below in the main square. There were booths all along the edges of the square, lined up in rows in the middle, and filled with kids from all the neighboring towns. They could hear the troubadours singing lyrics of love that were accompanied by string instruments and lutes. People were dancing all about the square, following the steps to street swing dancing. 

“Ugh, I wanna dance. Can we go down there now?” Lance whined, prancing impatiently on the spot. 

“Coran said we shouldn’t tire ourselves out—the best of the festival is tonight,” Shiro warned, but they were all staring out the window at the tops of the colorful green tents, trying to ignore the scent of autumn cider creeping in through the windowpane. “…But I don’t see why we can’t start a bit early.”

And thus, Keith was reluctantly pulled along by Shiro out the door of their room, with Pidge and Lance hurrying after them. Hunk put Rover down for a nap in the backpack that retained Keith’s heat before taking off out the door after them, shutting it behind.

Shiro and Pidge practically shoved Keith out onto the street out in the main square. He stumbled to regain his footing, narrowly avoiding a costumed girl and then a family of three. Pidge wrapped her arm around Keith’s and opted to walk with him around the square, just to get a general scope of the festival. They looked at all the crafts and merchandise, the endless food and beverages. The art, the music, the dancing— _all of it_.

They reunited with Shiro, Lance, and Hunk, who were exiting a tavern with drinks in hand. Shiro passed a mug to Keith, and against their better judgement, Lance slipped a mug to Pidge. She drank it in gulps and finished before any of them with a long, drawn out belch.

One of the rows of tents was cleared out, and a line of tap dancers came threading through the crowd, arms linked and smiles almost doll-like. Keith staggered out of the way, laughing as a bit of his drink spilled on the brick. The dancers wore frilly shirts with suspenders, tight-fitted pants with sharp-looking shoes, kicking their feet about and creating a thrum of heavy beats. The rhythm sent Pidge squirming and Lance ordering Hunk to hold his ale.

Lance leapt in front of Keith and snatched Pidge away from him. Laughing hysterically, she let Lance spin her around, and they followed the lead of everyone now swing dancing. The professional dancers mingled with the townsfolk, spiraling and switching partners. 

From the side, Keith, Shiro, and Hunk stood underneath the awning of a stand selling an assortment of cheeses. Shiro leaned over to Keith and shouted, over the commotion, “I taught you how to swing dance, right?”

“Briefly and drunkenly,” Keith answered.

“Do you remember?”

“Not remarkably well,” he confessed, a passive-aggressive way that said he could go either way. He didn’t remember remarkably well, but he could try. 

Before they could try their hand at a dance, Lance and Pidge returned. Lance took Hunk by the hands, setting their drinks down under the awning as Pidge grabbed Shiro and reeled him away from Keith. “Next time, I guess,” Keith mused to himself, dropping the hand he was prepared to take Shiro’s with.

He watched Shiro as his feet moved quick to the beat, matching Pidge step-for-step. They were fast, or at least it seemed fast, with the way they twisted their torso to and fro and marched forward, backwards, spinning impossibly fast away from one another and back. With everyone in step, they were apart of a seamless patchwork of dancers exchanging placements. Already warm from the alcohol, Keith felt dizzyingly content watching from afar with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

They passed the first several hours of the festival intermittently dancing, and other times mingling with the townspeople. There were magick displays every now and then—a horticulturalist who grew entire plants in a matter of minutes, just from the seed. They found Shay by the stand absolutely fascinated, and she offered to show them a few other sorcerers performing. 

“They’re all lovely people—there’s the flame-thrower, and the mindreader, and the water-bender—oh! Lance, you have to meet her,” Shay was saying, grabbing Lance and Hunk by the arms and talking all the way there. They left the square and wandered over to the inn where, within one of the back rooms, a lot of the performers were congregating. The room was lit by candles and the narrow windows in the back, and it cast long shadows of the figures within. Coran was among them, talking to the mindreader and seeming to be having a real laugh over something-or-other.

Pidge and Shiro stopped by Coran and while they were introduced to the mindreader, Keith followed after Lance and Hunk, his eyes running over everything they passed. The room, the furniture, the equipment—the people. There weren’t many, but those who were there gave off a calm vibe. But perhaps that had something to do with the scent in the air.

The water bender in the show was a tall, narrow girl—at least, at first glance she seemed to be just a girl. But as they talked, Keith realized that she was just simply small and childlike. She and Lance got on swimmingly, given their complimentary personalities and elements. 

“Could you show me a few tricks?” he asked her.

She gave a languid shrug and said, “I don’t see why not.” 

She stepped away from the group sitting on the floor and led them to a semi-open area. Shay brought a bucket of water over and the girl dropped a hand in and pulled out a decent amount of water with it. It dripped from her palm before condensing, forming the shape of an orb. She held it out to Lance and asked, “What do you know how to do?”

“Not much,” he confessed. 

“Can you hold this then?” she asked, gesturing to the orb. He floundered for a moment, looking to Hunk and Keith. He could feel Hunk’s excitement next to him, and the buzz from the alcohol making them all a bit giddy about seeing Lance hold water for the first time.

“Go ahead,” Keith said, and Lance turned back to the girl and nodded, holding out to hands. He cupped them together as the girl dropped the orb of water into them. It seemed to deflate, and just as Hunk let out an anxious noise, the orb bounced back into shape. Keith let out a breath of relief.

The girl reached into the bucket and pulled out two more orbs. “Toss it to me—come on, just give it a good ol’ toss.”

As Lance gave a gentle underhanded toss, the girl flung up the orbs and caught them, rotating hands, juggling them. They started as perfect orbs, like regular juggling balls, but as she picked up the pace, they streaked by. Their form became thin, long, wisps of water turning into a ring. They all “ooh”ed and “ah”ed at her trick—at least, until she began looping it between arms, spiraling the ring around her forearms. 

“The thing about bending the water like this—is that you have to remember that the water is _separate_ from you,” she said, though their eyes were trained solely on the water she spun around her arms. “A lot of people who practice this art forget that, you see. It becomes emotional when you connect yourself to it. It starts to drain you—literally. You know the body is made up of fifty percent water? To keep that all in, you have to act as though this ring you’re spinning now is nothing more than its own object.

“A lot of elemental things are taught through emotional attachment. A lot of it is triggered by emotion. With water, you can’t let emotion seep into the water. Just let it flow… as its own entity—” With that, she tossed the ring up, it fell out of shape and prepared to rain down on them.

She sliced both arms across her body and the water ceased movement where it hovered like rain droplets in the air. Keith’s own breath caught in his throat—it was impressive to find sorcerers able to manipulate even the smallest droplets of water. Not a single drop fell until she told it to. 

The girl swept her arms up and together, drawing all of the droplets together. In one smooth motion, she navigated them back into the bucket.

“Now you try,” she said, pulling Lance over and producing two water orbs for him.

“I—I can’t juggle for the life of me. My coordination is—subpar at most,” Lance said, laughing nervously.

“Then just juggle two,” Hunk said. “C’mon, you can do it.”

Lance tested the weight of the orbs before tossing one up. The instant it was in the air, it lost its form and splashed all over him. Keith snorted and quickly slapped his hand over his mouth because he saw the tips of Lance’s ears go red. 

The girl was patient with him, and by the time Lance was successfully juggling the water, Keith and Hunk could barely contain their enthusiastic screams of encouragement. Lance beamed at them, which only made him lose concentration and send the water cascading around them. 

A large splash of water fell over the girl’s head, but she hardly seemed disturbed by it. She swiped a hand over her head, and pulled the droplets of water from her hair. She tossed the orb back into the bucket and brushed her hands clean. “I could give you more lessons, but that’ll cost you,” she said.

“Aw, one more try,” Shay whined.

“Nope, ten tries is the max, you know that,” she said, wriggling her ten fingers at them before laying them flat with a shrug. “Sorry, but don’t be bummed kid. You have potential. And you said this was your first try?”

Despite looking dejected, Lance answered with, “Yeah, sort of.”

The girl pat her hand on his shoulder. “See? A natural. You’ll get it one of these days.”

Lance returned to where Keith, Hunk, and Shay were. He was slightly more damp than when he was going in to the brief training session. He scuffed his boot against the floor and muttered, “Emphasis on ‘ _one of these days_ ’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying SO HARD not to make this all Avatar, Legend of Korra but ALAS HERE WE ARE. I promise magick isn't all just elemental shiz. There's WAY more too it than that, and I hope to get into that with more flashbacks!
> 
> Honestly, I love writing about past Keith and Shiro. It's my all-time favorite thing, and I'm using it as a tactic to avoid rambling on about walking long distances in the present XD Let me know what you all think--I love reading your comments, and even if I don't reply to them I definitely read them !!!


	18. { the show }

Coran came over to them not long after Lance’s failed attempt at water bending. Keith was in the midst of explaining that having water elemental magick didn’t necessary default him into water bending when Coran threw his arm over his shoulder and caught their attention. “What are you three doing over here? There’s a feast to be had! Come on now, get a move on.”

Keith found himself wedged between Shiro and Pidge then, each of them holding an arm. Keith let his fingers slide between Shiro’s, and he held tightly as they exited the inn and followed Shay, who offered to escort them. As they skirted around the tents, Shiro leaned in to Keith and said, “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

Stubbornly, he rolled his eyes and murmured, “That’s one way to put it.”

When they came to the building where the feast would be, Pidge broke away to chase after Shay for questioning. Keith clasped both of his hands around Shiro’s then, and squeezed warmth into them. Shiro hummed blissfully, turning his face against Keith’s hair as they crossed the threshold into the dining hall.

“Ah-ah!” Lance exclaimed from behind, yanking Keith back by the shirt. “Take a look up.”

Prepared to slap Lance if it was a joke, Keith tightened his fingers around Shiro’s and looked up. The doorway was tall—towering, even—and with all the green decorations it wouldn’t have been hard to miss the Kissing Bush had it not been tied off with red ribbon.

“Those are lame excuses of fun party events,” Keith said to Lance.

“If you don’t it’s bad luck—Pidge gets off easy because she doesn’t have a significant other,” Lance said, and from afar they could hear Pidge shout, “Hey! I heard that!” As Keith glowered at Lance, the lad added, “Besides, I thought you were _superstitious_.”

“Maybe _after_ we’ve had another mug of ale,” Shiro suggested, pulling Keith by the hand. He continued to glare at Lance, even as the lad jumped up and gave Hunk a peck on the lips.

The hall in which the feast was held was filled with the warmth and aroma of freshly cooked food. There were already a lot of people sitting at the long, extended tables, and Shay left them at a spot for five—Hunk and Lance on one side, Pidge, Shiro, and Keith on the other. There weren’t chairs, just benches, and so they wedged between strangers and peered at each other from over the great expanse of the table. 

The food was served, and Keith forgot just how starved he was—it explained why he was able to get tipsy so quickly. He scarfed down the contents of his plate and continued to pick some from the trays in the center of the table. There were yams, assortments of beans, stuffing, bourbon cranberry sauce, roasted turkey, and—gods—the casserole was to _die for_. He washed it down with steady sips of spiked cider, and after a while, he was too stuffed even to drink.

When he finished eating, he slumped against Shiro’s side and became amazed at the fact that Pidge had cleared her entire plate and more. She sloshed around pumpkin spice rum in her mouth and swallowed it down with a scrunched-up look on her face.

“That wasn’t a good idea,” she murmured, and released an airy burp. “That tasted like pumpkin pie coming up.”

“That was something I didn’t need to know,” Hunk said with a laugh.

Their bantering ended when a ring sounded around the room. At the front of the room, where the floor was raised, Keith recognized Shay standing there looking positively charming with her brilliant, loving smile. She had her hands clasped in front of her as she addressed the crowd. “We are so glad to be here today with all you wonderful people, and to spend the week here with your hospitality. We are so appreciative of your generosity, so tonight we’d like to give our thanks. That said, I’d like to introduce the star of the show: your favorite minstrel, Coran!”

In a flourish of purple robes, Coran appeared on stage. Arms and legs straight, he cartwheeled to the center of the stage—the fabric across his limbs pinwheeling and showing off a rainbow-effect that sent the kids in the crowd gasping. As he landed, another guest appeared—the water bender. 

The water bender girl danced onto the stage with quick, calculated steps. She ran to Coran, who held his arms out as if to say “Ta-da!”

Swiftly, the girl leapt at him, her foot barely touching Coran’s outstretched hand before being launched into the air. Keith’s jaw dropped as the girl spun, suspended in the air with Coran’s hands outstretched, just barely beneath her. “Holy shit!” Pidge shrieked, but nobody _really_ heard it; in fact, everyone was shouting aloud at the sight.

With a twist of his hands, Coran spun the girl around and she straightened out, landing flat on her feet beside Coran. Keith felt a touch of something tug at his hair and clothes, and raise goosebumps across his exposed flesh— _a breeze_.

“He can control air currents,” Keith whispered to Shiro. “He’s a sorcerer—where are his marks? Did you feel the breeze when he spun her around?”

“ _Sh_ , pay attention,” Shiro commanded, grabbing hold of Keith’s hand and urging him to watch as Coran stepped up to the front of the stage with a wave of his extended, rainbow sleeves. 

He swept his hands gently across, gesturing for everyone to silence themselves. He kept his hands out, flattening his palms so they face the ceiling. Eventually, he looked behind him and did a double-take, comedically addressing the girl, “Your part is done—you can leave now.”

“Really? Well, if you say so,” she said, and started to walk off stage. Coran slowly lifted his hands, facing the crowd, while the girl walked up invisible steps. _The amount of trust it takes to step forward and believe you won’t fall_ , Keith thought to himself.

The hall they were in was two floors tall, and the girl escalated up to the railing and hopped over it. She waved to the people as she walked the length of the path, but the focus was on Coran now. He commanded the attention of everyone with just a simple gesture of his hands. No one could tell what, exactly, he was planning.

  


“We come to you in light of harvest,

With little more than your delight we seek;

We bring to you joy from an artist,

The one you stands before you—

with… semi-questionable physique.

  


“I am not an ordinary man,

My hair, my clothes, my accent _bizarre_ ;

But do I ask that you welcome a stranger,

Nothing more than a stranger—

who hails from lands afar?

  


“And, in due time, I will tell you,

My anecdote one may call fate—

Another perhaps a _lie_ in lieu,

Of a truth that cannot be fathom’d

By people such as you—

  


  


“And you— and you,” Coran said, voice lulling and captivating as he pointed out children from the front. All the young ones had gathered at the foot of the stage, and upon being called, climbed up with him. “This story I aim to share starts in that fabled, _mysterious_ place claimed by the ocean—by Mother Earth some might call her. Raving, savage, vengeful in nature. Reclaiming what mankind thought to be theirs!” His voice snarled now, jaws snapping at the kids on stage. They giggled in response. “ _This_ is where my story originates, and you ask yourselves: How can this be? When I am not the sort of man who hears with pointed ears and appears with white hair? A _lie_ you call it, simply because physical visuals will not subdue your analytic minds. Allow me to demonstrate, and to paint a picture, into your mind’s eye—”

With this, Coran reached out his hands towards the children, and clawed his fingers towards his chest. The children screamed with excitement, their feet kicked out from under them. The current carried them intermittently across the stage—Coran marking them by the three territories of Altea. 

“And we know how this story goes—Mother Earth hunts her victims like a predator, low to the ground, quiet, slowly, gradually. And then, as the unseeming victim senses even a smidgen of suspicion… she _snatches_ them away!” Coran swiped a hand up, and the child on the far right blew up into the air, as if a massive current of water swept them up. The tide rolled out, passing the child slowly, gradually, over the crowd in a downward motion until the parent of the child caught them from the air and carried them back down. 

“The ocean took Altea one territory at a time. By the loss of the first mass of land, the people— _all the people!_ —who could escape her wrath did what they could. They came here, to my lovely second assistant,” Coran said, shoulders dropping onto the child’s shoulders. “This is where I was—nothing more than a child. You might even call me a… _devious_ , _cunning_ , teenager with a sense of adventure that could get me _killed_. And it damn near did—considering I had the gal to visit Altea in their time of crisis. Of natural _disaster_.

“Talk about a disaster,” Coran muttered to the side. “And what could I do but let the current sweep me up off my feet, just as my sense of adventure had? The people from the first territory uprooted me—” Hands still on the shoulders of the young boy, their feet began to lift from the ground. As they rose higher, and higher, Coran’s voice escalated. “I was on the rooftop—I was flagging down a ship! The rescue ships navigated the drowned cities until the rooftops were gone, and I with them. But I wouldn’t be going down that easily. I didn’t need a ship. All I needed… was a bit of air.”

They were hovering below the ceiling now, and Coran took the child by the hands and guided them across the room, flying, soaring. “I flew for miles, days, _weeks_ , even! In the time it took to reach land, the ocean had reconquered all of the known territory that was once Altea.”

The child from the stage—the third and final one—went tumbling into the air with a light shout of shock, followed by giggles as slowly, one by one, all of the kids from the front lifted several feet from the ground. Keith stared in amazement—the amount of control was incredible. It was no wonder people like Coran could make such a living off of shows like these. 

All the children were dispersed into the crowd, returning—miraculously—back to their parents. At this point, Coran landed near the back, and walked the row as he continued his story:

“Magick can only last a sorcerer so long, you see—and when I landed, it would be more accurate to call it a _crash_. I took a spill in eastern Balmeria, and unlike street fighters who, when knocked down, get right back up—I did not get back up. I stayed down for nearly three days and nights.

“But it’s a miracle what Mother Earth can give as well as take,” he said, “I survived by becoming one with Mother Earth. The earth itself replenished me, slowly, gradually, like how trees grow almost insignificantly each passing year, but grow nonetheless. This is the point in my life when I realized that… there is more to nature, more to magick, and more to _people_ than I ever knew before. While we constantly take from Mother Nature, we never give back like she does.”

Coran mounted the steps of the stage, plucking at the cloth of his robes. He wiped a hand across his forehead and huffed, “Wow, who knew carrying a dozen children could take so much energy!” _No kidding_ , Keith mused to himself.

From the side of the stage, Keith saw Shay returning, pushing in a cart on wheels. It creaked across the stage as Coran said: “This picture in your head—the one I painted from the tale of my origins, will not suffice for this. I noticed that us humans are stubborn creatures—we demand explanation, demonstration, visual context. And here, I give to you visual context—Mother Nature at her finest!”

At this, Shay produced a packet of seeds from her pocket as Coran removed the cap to the cart. People were standing now, just to see what was in the cart. Soon, Keith couldn’t help but stand on the bench with everyone else, and lean across Shiro to see Shay work her magick.

In a matter of seconds—rather than the minutes it took the sorcerers on the streets—Shay produced buds, and then full grown plants. Flowers, herbs, the scent of earthy dirt and leaves collecting among the remnants of food beneath their noses. She drew her hands up, and up, and the vine plants spilled over the edges of the crates. Roots peaked out from between the bottom cracks of the crate. She ceased the rapid growth and bowed gracefully to the crowd.

The uproar was insane. Keith couldn’t stop himself from gawking at her, and then to Lance and Hunk, who where hooting and hollering and yelling, “ _WOO! GO SHAY!_ ”

When the commotion finally settled, it was at the hands of Coran. He held his hands out for silence, and once it was granted to him, he said, “You are applauding a bit too early, my friends.”

There were some laughs, and Keith looked to where Pidge peered back at him, an eyebrow quirked. 

Coran dipped his hands into the leafy greens until his palms touched the soil. “Here, is where the magick happens,” he told the crowd. 

He closed his eyes, and in the silence that ensued, Keith couldn’t tear his eyes away. He wished he was closer, to see the magick up close, but in a matter of a few quiet minutes, the people in the front began to gasp.

The vascular system within the plants, the veins running through the leaves, began to glow. At first it was faint, and then it was overpowering. It glowed a miraculous neon blue that seemed to fizzle away from the leaves, shedding off the plants in flecks of white and blue. These bits of light clung to Coran’s arms, shoulders, face—they lit his entire body aglow.

They were all so focused on the fact that Coran was _glowing blue_ that they nearly missed the fact that as the remainder of the blue light left the plants, they wilted into the dirt, returning to the soil. Compost for future plants.

Eventually the glow faded from Coran and he lifted his hands from the soil with a brilliant smile on his face. “No trip to the source well necessary.”

  


  


Keith was sufficiently over the limit of his max alcohol level when he was finally able to confront Coran after the show. He really hoped there was some truth to what Allura said about his memory, because when he woke up he could barely even remember Coran’s show at all.

He woke up feeling like he couldn’t breath because nearly the entirety of Shiro’s torso was over his chest. Neither of them were wearing shirts, and after squinting to the side for a while, Keith started to pick out the form of Pidge half-naked—still wearing undergarments and shorts and a festive hat—strewn across the sheets.

It took a while for Keith to realize what woke him up. There was the sound of something repeatedly clanking against the table across the room. Keith squeezed himself out from underneath Shiro and sat up to see what the ruckus was.

_Rover_.

“Shit,” Keith swore, swinging his legs off the bed and regretting the fast movement instantly. Not only did it jar his head, but it brought Rover’s attention straight to him.

The drake lunged for him, claws bared and all, and sunk them into his leg. He winced and stood up, plucking Rover off one claw at a time.

The water dish was tipped over, contents nonexistent, so Keith filled up the bowl and set it on the table. He put Rover next to it and waited for her to finish half the bowl before rifling around in his pant pocket for food bits.

“Here you go,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he laid out a line of treats for Rover to follow, ending with a chip of his egg shell. It was one of the last five bits of the shell.

Rover made munching noises as she ate—it was on the verge of incoherent grumbling that didn’t cease even when she drank more water. Keith laid his cheek against the table to stop the constant throbbing in the forefront of his head, and watched her slurp up water. She didn’t lap at it like a dog—she stuck the tip of her mouth into the water, and sucked it up.

He absently stroked at Rover’s softer scales until she grew tired of water and food. After causing such a ruckus, she was tired out, so Keith went back to the bed with her perched on his shoulder. Once settled in, she curled over his neck and slept there, breathing steam out over his hair.

  


  


“And who said that we’d leave as soon as possible?” Keith complained, pointedly looking to Shiro and talking loudly. Everyone at the table winced. “Thought so.”

“We’ll leave _eventually_ , gods, don’t rush it,” Lance whined, slumped over the table. Hunk sat beside him with an arm across the back of his chair, his other hand rubbing his head. Pidge could barely even lift her head from where she settled it over her forearms.

Keith scoffed, crossing one of his ankles over his knee as he leant back with his coffee cradled between his fingers. “I find it hard to believe that _any of this_ was by happenstance. You all _planned_ to stay another day, didn’t you?”

“It’s not a problem. The only thing we’ll have to worry about is Rover’s food supply. Pidge?” Shiro said, sniffing a little as Pidge replied with an ungraceful moan. “Did you find any legumes for Rover yesterday?”

She sat up, sucking in a deep breath and looking pallid as all hell. “I found… absolutely nothing. I got distracted.”

“Wait—there was a booth yesterday selling bags of roasted almonds and such.”

“Almonds are drupes—but that shouldn’t really matter. We need to see what Rover can digest,” Pidge said. Her voice was stuffy. “We can check it out if we leave.”

“You mean _when_ we leave,” Keith corrected. She simply moaned and let her head fall back onto her arms.

They finished eating what their stomachs could manage, and with foggy heads they returned to their rooms to prepare for the journey. They took everything with them on their way to the bathhouse in the town. It wasn’t massive in size, Keith noted, and with the festival going on and all the visitors, the place was relatively packed. At the entrance they were directed to the left, and Pidge split away to the right, seeing as the baths were separated by genders. 

Keith was never a fan of the city because of all the people, and how they were always in his business. This essentially meant he loathed bathhouses even more, because not only was he surrounded by people, but he was surrounded by naked, exposed bodies and he wasn’t any better. 

He made quick work of washing up because of it, and ditched as soon as he could. The bath itself was a large pool, with arched brick walls surrounding it, and stairs dipping down into the water. Lance was testing the water bending tricks the girl showed him, and would splash Hunk from across the pool, only to get a large wave tossed back at him with the force of Hunk’s entire body flopping into the water.

“I’ll be looking into getting Rover food,” Keith told Shiro. “We shouldn’t leave her in the lock room long anyway.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure she’ll be fine—she was sleeping last we checked,” Shiro said, but Keith was already stepping out of the pool and walking away. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist on the way to the room outside of the pool.

Keith changed quickly and checked inside Rover’s backpack. The drake tipped her nose up to him and blinked at the light before settling her head back down. Asleep—just like Shiro said. He shouldered the backpack and started out of the bathhouse and to the town square. The festival was still in motion, and as he looked in to all of the stands and asked around about the roasted almonds, he was swept into a line of dancers prancing through, collecting people left and right. 

He spun awkwardly into line and tried to escape, only to have his arm linked with a girl wearing those high waisted trousers and suspenders. Not wanting to seem rude, he offered a cringe-worthy smile and excused himself from the dancing. 

The instant he walked out of the dancing circle, he bumped into a gate that rose to about the height of his waist. It was the animal pen, and one of the goats tried to nibble on the hem of his coat. He yanked it out of reach and skirted around the fence and away from the goats being pampered by small children.

Instead of asking around, he followed his nose this time. He closed his eyes and smelled for it—the steaks on the grill, the campfire scent, the sting of alcohol… Caramel, honey, sugary syrups and treats sticking to children’s fingers. He walked along the outskirts of the tents until at last—crystalized, heated sugar on roasted nuts. 

He followed it, weaving back into the crowds and practically running when he found the stand across the isle. There was a large barrel circulating almonds, and he instantly asked if they sold plain nuts. “You’d have to ask my boss,” the man said with a shrug. 

“Could you bring him out here?” Keith asked, leaning on the counter. They were interrupted by a mother exchanging several coins for two bags of roasted walnuts for her children, and afterwards, the guy gave an indifferent shrug and walked off behind the tent. 

A moment later the owner stepped up to the table and said, “We don’t sell ‘em plain, kid.”

Keith pursed his lips and struggled not to shout, “What does it matter! You’re gonna get paid anyways!” Instead, he wondered just how pliable this man’s head was—he could stand to prod a little, for the sake of getting Rover food. 

“I’ll give you a silver for seven assorted bags—no sugar, not roasted,” Keith said, laying his hand down flat on the table as he assessed the man clearly. 

The guy shifted his weight onto one leg, and smacked his lips together before saying, “Listen, kid—” At that point Keith dipped into his magick and reached it out to him. It didn’t manifest into a tangible state—it remained obscure, ambiguous, and enough to pull at the man’s emotions. Stretched thin, he became lenient, and Keith could see the calm ease his brows. “A silver, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man evened his stance and folded his arms over his chest. “That’ll get you five, kid.”

“That’ll do, sir.” Keith fished out his money from his pocket and dropped a silver coin into the man’s waiting hand.

After acquiring the bags of assorted nuts, Keith hurried out of the commotion of the festival and retraced his steps back to the bathhouse. Once there, he sat on the steps outside. The temperature was tolerable with just his teleportation cloak. He sat Rover’s backpack between his legs, a step lower than the one he sat on, and opened the flap. Keith gave her a plain almond, and she took it between her three clawed fingers and bit down on it. It crunched loudly between her strong baby teeth, and she didn’t seem to mind it all that much. She only ate two though, and that was enough for her.

“You found the food?” Shiro commented from behind. Keith looked back at him, and how his hair was damp and slicked back—the streak of white looking comically like a skunk’s back.

“I did find the food,” he answered, twisting the almond bag back up. Shiro put them into his backpack as they waited for the others to return from the pool. “How was it?”

Shiro sighed, leaning his elbows back against a higher step and saying, “It was… good. Lance and Hunk started a water war—and it was fun at first until you realize everyone is _incredibly_ naked so I ditched midway through. They were changing when I left.”

“And Pidge?”

“I don’t know. I decided it wouldn’t be a smart idea to take a peak into the women’s side of the bathhouse,” Shiro confessed, and Keith hid his smile behind his hand. 

He slowly covered Rover’s cage and leant his head on his chin, knees propped up and face thoughtful as he turned to Shiro slightly. He cleared his throat before saying, hesitantly, “I’m… really glad. That I decided to come with you.”

Shiro reached a hand out, and clasped it over the one Keith rested on his lap. He gave it a squeeze and said, “I’m glad you came, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO Please ignore the fact that I can't write poems for shit XD I was gonna just snatch an actual minstrel's epic from online but NOPE. No stealing. Also, there's a reason why I'm in fiction class, NOT poetry class. Now you know the reason.
> 
> EXPECT MORE ABOUT YOUNG KEITH KOGANE. I wrote a stupidly long chapter yesterday so I'll post it tonight. After tomorrow, I'm going home for Thanksgiving (YAY!) which means I'll still be writing, but won't post on Thursday. 
> 
>  
> 
> TELL ME: A) Who's going to see Moana?! and B) If you celebrate Thanksgiving, what's your favorite food to eat on Thanksgiving?!
> 
> MY ANSWERS: A) HELLS YEAH I'M GOING I ALREADY ORDERED MY TICKETS and B) *softly* pumpkin pie, pumpkin pie *loudly* PUMPKIN PIE.


	19. { the enemy }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS double-post Monday is accompanied by 6.7k words, and some [nifty tunes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCNMTfb_kxY&t=1778s) because I always enjoy a read with some background instrumentals. See you again tomorrow!

When Keith was younger, he was ignorant and naïve even after spending half his life with Allura. He wasn’t nescient in the way most people assume: knowledge, books, literacy. He was uneducated in the world of society. And after jumping into school for the first time, he realized that he lacked the ability of understanding social cues, of understanding how to deal with people on the same level. It led to a lot of instances where he… stepped out of line. In classes most of the guys, while respecting of him, wouldn’t want to be paired with him, least of all let him edit their papers, their tests—he was brutal in a way most people weren’t. He thought gracefully letting people down was a waste of time.

It was clear to them that Keith was isolated most of his life, but he liked the isolation and they respected that. In classes involving labs, the only reason someone would praise the idea of having _him_ as a lab partner would be because he took control of all the experiments. He would do all of the work. 

But he never really understood his shortcomings until Shiro pointed them out. It happened after the incident—of Shiro’s belligerent friends mocking him. Keith swore he could never look at any of them ever again, least of all Shiro.

The night of the incident, Keith returned to his dorm and the first thing he did was throw down his satchel, grab a piece of parchment, and start writing. His insides were a bundle of emotions, and he could barely pick them apart enough to relay them to Allura. By the middle of his first attempt, he felt the heat building behind his eyes before he could stop it.

He couldn’t believe people could be so prejudice.

Once the letter was finished, he sent it without delay. 

He sat up awake that night thinking about, and analyzing the situation. He analyzed each of those idiots who thought it was funny to pick on Keith. He came to the conclusion that his least favorite people in the world were the ones who stood on the side lines, and watched bad things happen rather than stopping them.

He had just one class with Shiro that year, and the following day it brought a sense of loathing dread. He wasn’t sure if he could contain his raw fury if he saw Shiro’s smug face that day. There was so much of it that as it progressed through the day, Keith realized that he was affecting the people around him. The kids who sat around him had to take their coats off and jumpers when the heat reached them. He could only imagine what he looked like—murderous, probably.

He hated Shiro. He hated his friends. He hated Shiro. He hated being mocked. He was better than that. He could have burnt them all to a crisp and—

And he didn’t. 

They had maths together. Keith showed up in class with every intent of keeping his eyes forward, and attention everywhere but the kids in the room. The tables were long and narrow, and arranged in tiers—assigned seating. Keith took his spot, the second to the window, and festered slowly as he waited for class to start.

The person who sat next to him, closest to the window, took their seat—but they were completely facing Keith, sitting with their legs just mere inches from his own chair. Against his best efforts, Keith glanced sparingly at him and cursed when he realized that it _wasn’t_ the kid who usually sat next to him.

“Keith,” Shiro started, leaning a hand on the table and trying to get into Keith’s field of vision. “I… I’m sorry, okay?”

Keith folded his arms over his chest, feeling the tingling sensation in his chest beginning to build. It felt so potent, and the pressure of it made his voice strained. “Shut up,” he hissed, refusing to look at Shiro.

“Listen, it’s been bothering me ever since and I just thing it’d be best for—”

“Get the fuck away from me,” Keith snarled under his breath, turning his head towards Shiro. He could only look at the hand Shiro had on the table, and how it was gripping the edge of it. The pulsing in Keith’s ears increased, and he realized that it wasn’t his own blood racing—he could see it beating in the vein on Shiro’s wrist. Shiro was terrified.

“You clearly hate me, so why apologize?” Keith continued, listening to the _ba-bum, ba-bum, babum, babum, babumbabumbabum_ —

“And clearly the feeling is… mutual,” Shiro said, swallowing hard. “But we’re still counterparts, which means we have to put up with it—”

Keith scoffed, rolling his eyes away. “ _Have to_. We don’t _have to_ —if we both complain to the professor about each other they’ll just reassign us. Deal?”

_babumbabumbabumbabum_ —

“No.” Shiro shifted a little in his chair, attention lifting to where the professor walked in through the back of the room. “I just—I honestly think that if you accept my apology we’ll get along a _whole_ lot better. It isn’t worth the hassle, and who’s to say we’ll _actually_ get reassigned? The entire class has counterparts, Keith. And it wasn’t my fault—what happened. It wasn’t my fault.”

The kid who normally sat in Shiro’s spot was now leaning against the window, waiting for his chair back. Keith sighed, attention still on the front of the room. “Keep telling yourself that, asshole. Now get the fuck away from me,” he hissed, and drew his eyes to Shiro’s then to say, “or do I need to ask a third time?” 

Shiro hesitated— _damn_ , this kid was stubborn. But eventually, he got up, and apologized to the kid by the window. He sounded just as strained and wrung out as Keith did. The kid whistled lowly once Shiro was a safe distance away—at the opposite side of the class. “Talk about making the wrong enemy,” he whispered lowly to Keith.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, aside from you being _you_ , I heard Takashi is, like, a celebrity among the customary kids. Him and his friends, of course—any one of them would be awful to get mixed up with. You know Brent, from first level potions? His counterpart is in Takashi’s gang. Real asshat if you ask me.” The kid shook his head mournfully, and made a gesture as if to pray to the gods that Brent lived for another semester. 

Keith clenched his fists over his notebook as the professor began the class with practice problems. He opened to a blank page and, as all the kids in the room were collecting their supplies from their bags, he glanced across the room to Shiro. One of the students in front of him had their arm slung over the back of their chair, saying something quietly to Shiro and— 

They looked over at Keith.

His heart leapt into his throat, and he wondered just how much shit he got himself into. He practically threatened Shiro—sure, it was an implied threat, but a threat nonetheless. Shiro’s friends would maim him for sure.

A lot of their classes had teaching assistants—students in higher grade levels than them, mostly. They helped set up experiments in biology, aided students on practice problems, graded homework—those sorts of things. Some TAs were better than others, and every sorcery student was secretly in love with the female TA in potions, mainly because she was one of the few teachers who _was_ female. 

Her name was Karen Harris, but went by Harris for the most part. Keith would be spending two more years in this all boys school before moving on to secondary schooling—selected universities, the sort that mixed the genders, the grades, the classes. Harris came from one of those schools.

Potions was his next class, after maths, and he plotted to talk to her. She was nice, and seemed to appreciate the fact that Keith as on the verge of simply skipping to second level potions, even midway into the semester. Students worked at their own pace with their partners, and Keith flew through each of the experiments with his partner tailing along behind. 

Harris was already in the room when Keith raced in, panting. He slung his satchel off and beside his stool in the lab. The professor was in the room as well, but left as the students were filing in. He approached Harris. 

“Hey Keith, what can I do for you?” she asked, leaning a hand on the front counter with a smile on her face.

“I… have a question—it’s not related to class at all, though,” he said, twisting his hands in front of me. “You went to an all girls school with customary and sorcery kids, right?”

“I did,” she said. “What’s this about?”

“I was wondering if there were… rivalries between them at all.” His voice was quiet, so the other students wouldn’t hear him. Harris pursed her lips and studied him for a moment before pushing off the countertop and folding her arms over her chest.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” she said. “There’s always been rivalries between the customary and sorcery students—that’s just how it is. All fun and games though. We’d have competitions, sports, games…”

“Did they ever grow out of it, though?” Keith asked.

“Of course we did. It’s called maturing. It’s all about becoming mature, my friend,” she reassured him, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Now tell me about this potion idea of yours—I believe it had something to do with treating acne.”

So they were bound to grow out of it. He trusted Harris’ judgement, and he was certain she was the sole reason Keith decided not to switch counterparts. He could deal with Shiro—it wasn’t like they had to talk to each other constantly. They didn’t even have to be friends. They wouldn’t even have the same commitment level lab partners had. This would work fine.

What Keith _wasn’t_ expecting when he returned to the dorms, was the attention he got coming in. Some of the guys were lingering around open room doors, chatting about classes when Keith passed through. They looked at him, and down the hall, and back again. Keith hesitated in the midst of them, and said, “What’re you all standing around for?”

“We were just having a chat, but… ah…” one of them said, and awkwardly pointed down the hall, in the direction of his room. “That customary kid, Takashi, walked through earlier.”

Keith’s eyes went wide and instantly one of the guys said, “You need backup, huh? I’ve got a good arm—”

“You kidding? He can handle himself,” another said, and smacked the guy upside the head. 

“Yeah, it isn’t necessary,” Keith said, shaking his head. “Just… was anyone else with him?”

They all shook their heads, looking at one another to confirm the news. “Takashi’s your counterpart, right?” one said, and whistled low when Keith nodded. “I hear he’s got a _major_ grudge over guys like us. We got your back if you need it.”

He was surprised to find everyone siding with him. So he wasn’t the only one terrified of the customary kids. The news was comforting, but made him awkward in responding. “Thanks… I guess,” he said, and adjusted the strap of his satchel as he left them.

Keith turned the corner and, sure enough, he found Shiro waiting there with his back up against the wall opposite Keith’s door. He hesitated at the end of the hall, as Shiro was looking in the opposite direction. His school uniform seemed to dwarf his figure—the sweater filling in his narrow torso and his trousers rolled up at the ankles. He still had his backpack on. Keith rarely found himself focusing on the superficial appearances of people when there was so much else to focus on. Like the fact that Keith could see that Shiro’s hands were shaking, fisted at his sides. 

_He’s in the middle of the sorcery dormitories_ , Keith thought to himself _. He would be stupid to hurt me here_.

Keith approached cautiously, and tried not to break his stride when Shiro finally saw him. He pushed off the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Keith—”

“What are you doing here.” His demand was flat, monotonous, and Keith sensed the skip in Shiro’s heartbeat—but perhaps that was because he was focusing on it now. He forced himself to close that facet, and face Shiro as Shiro would see Keith. Unhindered by magick.

“Well, you came to my dorm—I think it’s fair for me to… meet you on your terms now,” Shiro said, shrugging casually. 

Keith eyed him as he plucked his keys from his satchel strap and moved on to the door. With Keith’s back to him, Shiro said, “And… I should probably admit that my professor confronted me, too. Maybe it isn’t a terrible idea to study together.”

“We don’t have to.” _I don’t want to—not anymore_.

Shiro hesitated as Keith bumped open his door and took a step in, turning to face the guy standing out in the hallway, looking tense. “My friends were assholes yesterday, okay?” Shiro blurted out. “Is that what you want to hear? Because it’s true, and I didn’t agree with it—”

“That’s the thing, Shiro,” Keith said. “You condoned it by not acting. You were as much apart of it as they were. And honestly it doesn’t matter much. I’m sure you really get a kick out of the fact that all us sorcerers are freaks of nature—sorry we can’t be normal like you.”

Shiro’s expression went from desperate to beyond guilty in a matter of seconds. Keith felt like shit watching the transition, and could barely look at the guy as he said those things. He was certain that if Shiro said anything now, it would come out shaky, like he was on the verge of crying. In the end, Keith sighed and interrupted him before it could happen.

“Listen, I’m not really all that used to living in the city anymore,” Keith started, “so I don’t know a whole lot about this prejudice customary kids have against sorcerers, or sorcerers have against customary kids—but either way I _really_ don’t want to be apart of it. So… if we worked together it can just be two normal kids trying to make it through the semester. Deal?”

It seemed to be the best bet Shiro was going to get, and he jumped to it with an eager nod. “Deal. You want to study now?”

“ _Now_?” Keith repeated, surprised. The only thing he really needed to study for was general magick, and that didn’t seem to fit into their rules. 

“Unless… I mean, we could go somewhere else if your roommate doesn’t want—”

“I don’t have a roommate,” Keith corrected, and cleared his throat. “I just have spells to study for, but… if you have something else…” He could tell Shiro was tempted to back out just at the mention of spells, but _damn_ that kid was stubborn. 

And so, that’s how Keith found himself stuck in the same room as Shiro for several hours into the night. They used the bed as a couch, seeing as it was up against two walls, and made notecards for Shiro’s exam. Keith would test spells in increments—they were all subtle light spells. Allura jumped him straight to light orbs that survived for hours on end, so he never learned the basics. It was awkward jumping back to the beginning, because he found lighting entire rooms to be easier than simple flashes of light sparked between his fingers. 

He stood in the center of the room and watched his palms flare with reddish light, as if threatening to jump straight to the light source Allura always taught him. 

“What are you doing?” He blinked in surprise at the sound of Shiro’s voice. He glanced up at Shiro, who was watching from the bed.

“Essentially trying to dumb down light magick for the sake of a grade,” Keith confessed, infuriated. He held his breath and sighed. “But it doesn’t matter. You want me to quiz you?”

“No, I, um… What do you mean by ‘dumb down’?” he asked, setting down his notecards to look at Keith. He had that same tenseness in his brow, like when Keith first met him. It pained him to even talk about magick—but for some odd reason he wanted Keith to explain it to him.

Unsure how to take Shiro’s conflicting responses, Keith laid a hand on his hair and breathed in deeply. “My mentor skipped the basics, so I have to relearn everything from the curriculum. It’s not a big deal, really, it’s just that… curriculum-based spells aren’t always the simplest ways to the solution. Gesture magick is simpler than spoken spells, but beginners learn with spoken spells. If you can do both, then the effect is more powerful.”

“So what you’re saying is… that you’re good at gesture magick, but awful at spoken spells,” Shiro said.

“That’s one way to put it—but I wouldn’t say _awful_ ,” Keith laughed. He left out the fact that his teacher was moving him up a level next semester, because of the fact that that level was entirely gesture-based.

“What do spoken spells require? What are they like?” Shiro asked. 

“Pronunciation is a big part of it. They’re more concrete—a lot of visual learners work best with gesture-magick,” Keith explained. 

“Then think of the words visually,” Shiro suggested, and Keith laughed at the weird suggestion. Words as visual things? What purpose would he have for—?

Keith stopped laughing and stared at Shiro in shock. “Wait—let me test it,” he insisted, and grabbed for his spell book. Keith searched for the word, it’s spelling, each letter individually. He set the book open atop his dresser. He had one hand raised, still, unmoving, and said the words to the spell.

Nothing happened at first, so he visualized the spell differently. He always pictured the product the words would bring, but perhaps that wasn’t what he needed: he needed to _see_ the words and feel the vibration of them against his vocal cords. The sensation of them tingled his arms, down to his fingertips where a flare of light illuminated from under his skin.

He chanted it again, this time the excitement bursting with a flare of light shooting from one of his finger tips. He laughed aloud, holding his finger out in triumph. “Take _that,_ professor!” he shouted, and raced to turn off the light in the room. 

His finger became the sole source of light—a flashlight, essentially. He turned it on Shiro, who was staring at him like he was mad. He held his finger beneath his chin and said, “Impressed?”

“Hardly,” Shiro scoffed. “You made your finger a candle. I don’t really consider that genius.”

Pouting, Keith let the light drop from his finger and he turned on the main light in the room. “I was trying to get that all class period today—even when the professor was lecturing.”

“Maybe if you would have been paying attention, they would have said something similar to what I said,” Shiro said haughtily, and Keith shoved him in the arm for it. He then held up his notecards and passed them across the bed. “Now it’s your turn to test me.”

  


  


Keith and Shiro went their separate ways after that first study session, and all the turmoil from the day seemed to settle within him. He didn’t feel infuriated by Shiro anymore. Sure, the guy was still an ass when it came to Keith’s magick-based classes, but there was potential. 

Two days went by, and Keith counted the number of times he crossed paths with Shiro throughout the day—two times total in the hallway, once in class. And each time he seemed less hostile. He even managed to _smile_ at Keith once—he acknowledged Keith as a mutual. If that wasn’t a miracle, Keith wasn’t sure _what_ was. 

At the end of the second day, Keith came out of his last class—potions—only to be shocked at the sight of white hair standing down the hallway. 

Kids were starting to come out of their classes, and ogled at the woman with the white hair as they passed. Keith was still frozen in the hallway, and accepted the nudge of someone bumping into his shoulder.

The woman with white hair glanced briefly in his direction, as if sensing his eyes on her, and he nearly dropped his satchel. At first he just wondered if there was another Altean around, but _no_ , there was only one he knew of, and she was _currently talking to one of his professors_.

Allura dismissed herself from the conversation with the professor. Keith slowly started walking towards her, and she met him halfway, her steps hurried. They were in the middle of the hallway while students stared and leered at Allura—most of them knew who she was, and all their eyes were on them when Allura came up to Keith and bent down to hug the living daylights out of him.

“I came as soon as I got your letter,” she said. Keith peered over her shoulder wondering _What letter-?_ before remembering…

_Shit_. 

“Are you okay? Where is this kid, I need a word with him,” Allura said, standing up straighter and gunning down every kid with her sharp, fierce eyes. 

Keith was still speechless. The sound of kids whispering trickled in, and the amount of embarrassment of having Allura confront him _in the public of his school_ washed over him in waves. “Maybe… we should talk somewhere else?” Keith suggested, tugging on her arm and leading her through the crowds of kids half her size. Alteans were generally tall, elvish beings, and Allura was a testament to this fact.

They escaped out into the courtyard, and Allura hugged him again. He let her, and even hugged her back. It didn’t seem real—she said she wouldn’t see him until summer. And yet here she was, simply because he _sent that letter_ … “Doesn’t it take a week to get here?” he asked.

“Not unless you’re _really_ determined,” she said. “And also a bit of magick.” She winked at him as she pulled away and placed her hands on her hips. Keith was still staring at her like she was mad—like they were _both_ mad. “What is it, Keith? You know what, how about we go out for dinner, hm? I’ll talk to your headmaster about getting you a pass for the day. You deserve a treat.”

Keith floundered for an answer, but shut his mouth before he could say anything idiotic and nodded.

And so, that was how Keith wound up in Allura’s favorite restaurant in the city. She even got him a mug of spiked cider and a pumpkin pie. He felt guilty eating it, but he ate it anyways. “Tell me about this sonuvabitch who hurt you,” Allura demanded. 

“You really didn’t have to come here for that…” he whined. “I’ve dealt with it.”

“Oh really? I’ll deal the final blow if I have any say in the matter,” she said, dropping her fist onto the table. “What’s his name again? Takashi Shirogane?”

“Yes, but it was mostly his friends…” Keith said quietly. “Look, it’s really not a problem anymore. Their advisor gave them detentions—it’s all dealt with. I was just really… emotional when I wrote that letter. And homesick. I’m sorry for making you come all this way.”

Allura was looking at him like she did most things: with a straight face. She shook her head lightly before clasping her hands over the one Keith held his fork in. “It’s all right to be homesick, Keith. And don’t apologize for something that was my decision. I came here because I wanted to.”

She looked down at her wine and took a sip of it before saying, softly, “And I may or may not have missed you. That letter was the final straw—I had to make sure you were all right.”

“May or may not have,” Keith deadpanned.

“A teensy bit.”

“Oh yes, sure sounds like it,” he jested with a smile. The marks on her cheeks pushed up as she smiled at him, wholeheartedly and without reserve.

“Tell me about your classes then,” she suggested. “I didn’t come all this way just to kick ass.” Keith laughed at that, and was surprised to discover how giddy he felt now. He forgot what it was like to be comfortable around people. At school he was always on guard, but with Allura… he was able to tell her anything. 

She walked him back to the school, and with the colder temperatures, it was darker. They were approaching the gates of the school campus when a thought came to her, and she snapped her fingers. “Oh—gosh, I forgot to ask. Did you see what I left you? In your luggage?”

“Yeah, the herbs—”

“Not the herbs,” she said, shaking her head. She surveyed him quickly, stepping back to get a good look at him. There were flecks of snow on his hat, and on the shoulders of his sweater. “Well, you aren’t wearing it, so I assume you never opened it.”

“Opened what?” he asked. 

She simply patted him on his shoulders and swept an arm around him, guiding him onto the campus. “Look around for it. I know it’s there—oh, you’ll love it. Trust me, I know these things.”

The lights around the campus grounds illuminated the snow flakes fluttering through the air, and their shadows fell over them with long, lanky figures. Allura knew a few tricks that had to do with snow, and even as she broke away to perform one of them, Keith frantically tried to stop her. They were in the middle of the campus—he didn’t want any of the students pestering him about what the hell his mentor was doing.

She swept her hands through the air, and the snowflakes in her wake froze in midair, and condensed together with minuscule, crystalized bridges. They began to form intricate, detailed structures, building the foundation of a large mega-snowflake. Keith stood there with his hands over his face, aware that there were a few students peering at them through the windows of the library. 

“Ta-da!” Allura announced, underlining the work of art with her hand. 

Keith clapped once and said, “Great, now can we keep moving or…?”

“Aw, I know you love my snowflakes—so I know you don’t mean that,” she said, and with a wave of her hand the framework of crystals collapsed. They made soft noises as they collapsed, like muffled plates shattering.

They approached the sorcery dorm as Allura relayed the occurrences within the past few weeks—those at the shop, and in the town. She animatedly explained how one of the horses on a farm crushed a little girl’s rib in, and despite how Keith cringed at the description of it, he managed to listen to every detail of how Allura fixed the girl right up—punctured lung and all.

“Aren’t you just so amazed by how incredible the human body is?” she said. “It is so resilient.”

“As are most personalities,” Keith mumbled to himself, and she nudged him in response. Sarcastically, he added,“But I appreciate your resilience, Allura. Love you to pieces.”

“Oh, I know you do,” she grinned as they stepped up underneath the stone awning surrounding the dormitory. They walked along the railing for a time before hesitating near the door. Allura insisted that she didn’t need to see his dorm life. “I know enough about the living conditions in which you live.”

“And by that you mean you think we’re all slobs,” he said.

“Well, everyone but you,” she laughed, rubbing his hair. She combed it back and gave the back of his neck an affectionate squeeze. “Write to me if you have any problems. Anything at all. I’d be lying if I said this was officially a one-time thing—I will always come here if you need me to. But don’t expect weekly visits, understood? I have a life and so do you.”

“Right, of course,” he answered, feeling far more confident now than he did the first time she left him. 

Just as Allura was about to add something, the door to the dormitory opened, and to Keith’s utter surprise, Shiro stepped out. Even with the snow everywhere, it wasn’t hard to pick out Allura’s flashy white hair, and the fact that Keith was standing in front of her. 

“Keith,” Shiro blurted out, sounding just as shocked as Keith felt. His exclamation brought Allura’s attention around, and Keith nearly screamed as he remembered something crucial: Half the time strangers never even needed to introduce themselves to Allura. He rarely ever saw Allura’s straight face display anything other than indifference or amusement. This time, he saw her jaw tick. It sent a chill down Keith’s entire spine.

“Shiro, what are you doing here?” Keith asked, stepping in front of Allura, standing between them and acting as though he was simply just approaching Shiro. 

“I…” he started, but his eyes seemed trained on Allura now. “I’m sorry, I never introduced myself. My name is—”

“Takashi Shirogane,” she answered for him, and it came out through clenched teeth. “I know who you are.”

“Allura, please,” Keith whined, turning back to her with a hand held out, as if to hold her back.

“Allura?” Shiro repeated. “Your mentor? I thought— You live relatively far from here, don’t you? Keith mentioned you live up north.”

The fact that Shiro even bothered to bring it up seemed to jar Allura. Keith lowered his hand when he recognized that her guard was lowering as well. Keith talked to Shiro about home—that was essentially what Allura was able to pick up from Shiro’s short statement. It meant that they had to be on good terms for Keith to be able to talk about home with Shiro.

“I do,” she answered. “I came to visit for the evening. A quick check in.”

“Really? That’s awful kind of you. How did you get here?” 

“By hawk.” Her blunt answer was followed up with confused silence from Shiro. Keith slapped his hand over his forehead. “Speaking of—I won’t be finding my hawks anywhere near the city. If I plan to get back before midnight, I should probably start now. It was nice meeting you, Takashi. Keith?”

Keith looked to her, probably red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He couldn’t believe Allura told Shiro that she traveled via hawk. _He couldn’t believe it_. How much more embarrassing could she get? Especially knowing Shiro’s disposition with sorcery? 

She combed back his hair again and kissed his forehead quickly. “Look in your luggage again—you might have missed it the first time. _Closely_ , remember? It’s there, I know it is.”

“Okay,” he answered. 

Without another word, Allura turned on her heels and backtracked, back to the gate, out of the city, and to the forest where she would find the hawks and travel back home. He watched her go with a sigh before turning back to Shiro, who still seemed broken by the news that people were able to travel via hawk.

“Did she really mean…?” he started, and stopped when Keith nodded. “Was she actually… the white hair—”

“Altean,” he said. “Yeah, I didn’t mention it because a lot of people freak out about her. I’ve debunked so many preconceived notions about her it is… a little out of hand.”

Shiro didn’t seem to have an answer, considering all he could come up with was a simple, “Oh.” It just added to Keith’s embarrassment when he realized that there was no need for Shiro to be dazzled by Allura for being anything other than Altean. He didn’t care about the sorcery aspect. “Um… would you want to work on homework tonight or…?”

“Sure, sure,” Keith said quickly, and led the way through the doors of his dormitory. They were hardly up the stairs before kids from the other floors got word that Keith was back—they had dozens of questions for him, and they didn’t hesitate to jump him in the stairwell to ask them.

It started at the first floor, where several guys stepped through the door and verbally gasped at the sight of him. “Oh my gods! Is Allura with you? Steve claimed he saw her in the hallway—”

“Is she still around? How long is she in the city for?”

“What was she doing here? Is there something going on in the city?”

“Where is she staying? Can I meet her—does she give lessons on physiognomy perception?” At that question, Keith gave the kid a weird look and said, “She hasn’t even really taught _me_ that yet.”

“That means she’s taught you a little,” the guy said with a devious grin. “Show us something of it, _please please please_ —What am I thinking? Can you tell?”

“Dear gods, _no_ , I _can’t_ ,” Keith groaned, pushing between the people and tugging Shiro along with him. Everyone was blindsided by Keith before realizing who was with him, and then they backed off. They shrunk to the walls of the hallway when Shiro crossed paths with them, and Keith could sense the glares being pelted at the back of Shiro’s head. 

The hall weren’t normally so congested.

Keith hurried to unlock his door and practically shoved Shiro inside and locked it behind them. A few of his neighbors groaned in annoyance outside his door and gave one last shout: “Tell us about her later, all right?!” 

Keith’s breath huffed out as he pressed his back to the door. Shiro wandered to the middle of the space before turning to look back at him. “Why were they all acting like that?” Shiro asked.

Reluctantly, Keith pushed away from the door and slid off his satchel and shed his coat. “Allura’s a bit of a legend in the magick community,” he confessed. “And half of it has to do with the fact that she’s Altean.”

“Half of it?” he repeated. “Why is she a legend?” 

Keith sighed and rubbed at his aching temples. “She, um… she’s a well-known mind-reader and manipulator. It sounds scary but she turns it on and off. It doesn’t run haywire, like most elemental magick does.” He sat on the edge of his bed, and looked sparingly at Shiro. The news was a bit unnerving, that much he could tell. 

Shiro shifted his weight a little, and scratched at the underside of his chin. “Are you…? Can you read minds or—?”

“Not well,” he confessed. “I can sense little things if I try, but that’s about it. Mainly where people are and such.” He used to practice it a lot when he was a kid, and he was ignorant enough to believe Allura’s assumption that Keith was omniscient. For a while, he thought so too. “Like… here, let me demonstrate.”

He scooted up onto his bed and pushed a hand against the wall. He shut his eyes and said, “My two neighbors are on their floor playing cards—or studying with notecards. And I can tell that this really freaks you out so I’ll stop now.”

“As if it _wouldn’t_ freak someone out,” Shiro scoffed, voice exacerbated. “Can all sorcerers do that?”

“No. It’s a skill, just like anything else, and some are better at it than others. And everyone has some level of magick in them—you’ve learned about the spectrum, haven’t you?” Keith asked, and Shiro gave a weary shrug and confessed that it was briefly mentioned in his social sciences class. “All people fall somewhere on the scale—one being the lowest level of magick, and five being the highest.”

“And what are you?” he asked.

At the time, Keith hated being asked that question. It seemed like such an innocent question: to ask what side of the magick spectrum a person was on. But it was a loaded question nonetheless, and knowing who was asking, Keith felt self-conscious about his answer. He dropped his hands onto his lap and said, “About a three. A lot of the kids here are at a three—there are a few fours but you can’t really tell the difference until we get into the higher level sorcery classes. Level threes are excellent at the basics, but later on they usually diverge. Pick non-sorcery professions.”

“And… are you going to do that? Go into a non-sorcery profession?” he asked, and Keith shook his head.

“I’ll inherit Allura’s apothecary store. After this I’ll go to the medical school for magick alternatives,” Keith explained, because that was the truth. He would essentially be a doctor who practiced magickal medicine.

“Oh.” 

Silence ensued, and Keith covered it by patting the bed for Shiro to sit down. He recalled Allura’s mention of her gift, and jumped off his bed to dig around under it. As he did that, Shiro pulled out his textbooks and seemed to watch Keith carefully with whatever it was he was doing.

Keith found his luggage—the two cases he brought with him—and unlatched them both. He flipped them open, to no avail. There wasn’t anything in them. He slapped his hands onto his lap with a huff. “She always does this. Why does everything need to be encrypted?” he complained.

_Encrypted_.

Gasping, Keith lunged for the corners within the cases. The first one didn’t lift up, but the second one did, and he popped open the bottom of the case to display a folded piece of black fabric. He tossed the bottom of the case away and lifted up the cloth. It unraveled, and the material weighed heavily in his hands. The thick fabric displayed loose sleeves and a buttoned collar, as well as a hood. A cape. She got him a cloak.

“Oh, sweet!” Keith yelped, jumping to his feet to display the cloak. “I’ve been needing a new one!”

“Put it on—see if it fits,” Shiro suggested.

Keith swept his arms through the sleeves and tossed up the hood. It was massive—he’d need to tailor it, but it just meant she intended for him to wear it for years to come. “A bit big. It’s more like a cape,” Shiro said.

“Like this?” Keith gripped the corner of the cloak and swept it up dramatically and around him. A fluttering feeling took over his entire body the instant he spun it, and the dizzying motion was accompanied instantly by Shiro’s horrified shriek. It was followed by the _crash!_ of Keith slamming against the wall—on the other side of the room. 

Dizzy, Keith collapsed onto the floor trying to process what happened. Shiro was up on the bed with his hands over his mouth, white as a sheet. He shakily looked between where Keith’s luggage was, and then where Keith was now—definitely farther away from it. “You— _did you see that?!_ ” Shiro shouted.

“No.”

“You were—you were over there and now you’re— _what just happened!_ ” 

Weak at the knees, Keith stood up. Whatever just happened, it seriously drained him. He staggered a little and put a hand to the wall. “I’m gonna try it again—”

“Don’t you dare,” Shiro warned, about to get up from the bed. “You’ll go out the window this time.”

“Don’t… tell me what to do,” Keith said, pointing a finger at him before gripping the edge of the cloak and whipping it around him in a flash of black that darted across the room and sent him straight into the door. The shock of black that darted across the room deposited Keith on the floor, this time tumbling flat onto the ground far more drained than before. “She gave me her teleportation cloak,” Keith whispered to himself, staring, dazed, at the ceiling. 

Shiro peered over the edge of the bed at him, looking like he was about to puke.


	20. { the ridiculous }

As Keith and the others started their trek to the Arusian mountain rage, he found himself clutching the hem of his cloak and thinking about Allura. He had no reason to believe that she would ever return to his sleepy town, but now he had to remind himself: Allura was always there for him. She _flew_ all those miles to Keith’s school in the city, just to bang some heads together and defend his honor. The thought made him want to laugh. 

She was just looking out for him, just like always.

At school, Keith always excelled in his sorcery classes. He spent so much time on them that it didn’t take long for his teachers to notice that he slacked in his other disciplines: languages, history, maths… Science wasn’t much of an issue. He loved biology, and was superb in chemistry because it was so much like potions. 

For his first year, Keith worked hard to get good marks in his classes. Second year, the grades came in from his first history exam and he couldn’t believe the numbers. If he hadn’t been so in shock he would have started bawling his eyes out right then and there. But he had other things to worry about—that same week of the exam, he had a demonstration in palmistry to study for. Sure, it was an elective but he always found palmistry interesting…

He knew Allura would be getting a duplicate of his scores in the mail. He had nightmares about the look she got when she was angry: the tick in her jaw, the twitch of her eyebrow. They were all a recipe for disaster. He had to lighten the news, somehow.

After classes he sat in the library with his legs crossed in one of the large wooden chairs that seemed to dwarf him. He was still small in his grade—a lot of the kids were reaching the age of thirteen now, and several of them were already experiencing growth spurts. Keith wasn’t quite there yet, but he was staring to recognize people based on the height of their shadows. He wasn’t all that surprised to recognize Shiro’s shadow emerging from between the bookshelves. 

“Steve from history said you’d be here,” he said as he sat down across from Keith. There was a divider on the table, but they could still see each other over it. “What are you doing?”

“Writing a letter,” he confessed, and just admitting it made the lump in his throat worse. “What about you?”

“Looking for you.” Keith looked up with narrow eyes, and Shiro gave an innocent shrug in response. “What? I’m bored. All the exams are over with now, what am I supposed to do? I have nothing to study for.”

Keith was about to ask where his other friends were—the customary kids—but he had to remind himself that those names were off limits. Shiro had a fall out with them before summer break. Some family matters in their small towns, something that had to do with not wanting their sons to be in a school that condoned sorcery. The kids themselves were fine with it, but when they didn’t fight the matter, to try and stay in Devereux, Shiro was infuriated with them.

So Keith didn’t ask about them.

“Who are you writing to?” Shiro asked, leaning forward with his forearms resting on the desk. Keith subconsciously covered up his writing with his arm, and set his pen down. “Sorry—didn’t mean to pry.”

“You really can’t sit still, can you?” Keith said—it was a conclusion that he came to a while back. Shiro was always doing one thing or another, or looking for something to do on the side of those. Keith suspected that half the fun of being in the library was the process that brought Shiro there—having to hunt Keith down through interrogating their classmates. That probably filled about half an hour of his day.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine. It’s just—I am not doing anything interesting right now. You should probably find someone else to bother,” Keith said, and after giving Shiro one last hard stare, turned back to the page. He left off on, _I aced my exam in magick statistics, but_ —

“If I’ve learned anything from you, it would be to read faces,” Shiro said. “And right now your’s is telling me that something is wrong.”

“Leave it, Shiro,” Keith warned. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He could tell Shiro was pouting, but he didn’t look up. His mind blanked, though—train of thought completely lost at the hands of Shiro wistfully sighing as he stared out the window. Keith slapped down his pen again and groaned. “Fine, whatever. What do you want to do?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Shiro said quickly, waving his hand dismissively. “You can keep working.”

Keith watched him from over the divider. Another conclusion he made about Shiro was that the kid hated being alone. There was something about being on his own that unnerved him, and Keith wasn’t about to argue it. He wasn’t about to mention it, either. So, he did as Shiro said and went back to work on his letter to Allura.

After finishing it, Shiro came with Keith to get postage and mail it. At the counter of the front desk, Keith wrote Allura’s name in elegant script and the address to the cabin in the woods. Shiro leant against the counter, chatting to the lovely elderly lady on the other side. She was adorably kind to them, and took Keith’s letter with a simple, “We’ll take care of this straight away, Mr. Kogane.”

“Thanks,” he replied awkwardly, and left feeling inarticulate. There Shiro was, having an entire conversation with the woman, and all Keith could come up with was “ _Thanks_.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Shiro murmured from beside him.

“Huh?”

“About talking to people,” he said, giving Keith a pat on the back before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He held the door for Keith as the left the main office building. “Listen, you say I can’t sit still—I say you can’t talk to people. That’s all.”

“ _Can’t_ or _won’t_ are two very different things,” Keith corrected. The idea of Shiro laying it out so bluntly seriously felt like a blow to the chest. “I don’t _like_ talking to people.”

“That’s because you don’t try.”

“What do you know about what I do and don’t try?” he snapped, fists bundling under the heavy sleeve of Allura’s cloak. His voice came out bitterly enough for Shiro to tell he hit a nerve. “If you’re annoyed that I can’t _speak_ or _whatever_ , then leave already.”

“I never said that—Keith,” Shiro said, exasperated as Keith turned a corner sharply and picked up his pace. “I never said you couldn’t speak—! You’re acting ridiculous, come on. I was just trying to help!”

He heard Shiro’s shoes clapping fast against the stone of the walkway, and Keith jerked his arm away from where Shiro reached for it. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed, hesitating to look sharply at him.

Shiro slapped his hands down to his sides, letting out a sigh as he rolled his eyes. “Right—I forget I can’t fucking sneak up on you because of your _mind powers_.”

“Don’t call them that,” Keith complained.

“I don’t get it. I seriously don’t. So _you_ can say things like how I ‘seriously can’t sit still’ and I can’t say stuff like that to you? Why are you so pissy today?” he protested, and raised his brows sharply as if daring Keith to argue it. And, of course, Keith did.

“There’s a difference between acknowledging something and insulting someone.”

“I wasn’t insulting you! Lots of people have social anxiety, Keith. And—gods, Keith, it’s not a death sentence. It’s not a bad thing!” Shiro threw his hands up angrily before fisting them in his hair when Keith’s scowl turned murderous. 

Keith folded his arms over his chest tightly, perhaps to avoid from punching Shiro. He felt the strong urge to write Allura another letter. “How long have you been thinking this about me?” he asked.

Yet another eye roll. “It’s not a big deal, Keith. I sort of suspected after the time everyone crowded you in the dormitory last year—about Allura and all. I mean, anyone would be hesitant about all that attention, but… you don’t seem to do well in crowds. Like last semester when we’d walk to third period together?”

Keith knew at that point he was being ridiculous. He wasn’t the only one analyzing people. He wasn’t the only one _allowed_ to analyze people. At that point, he felt like a dick and wasn’t sure how to rectify the situation. 

So instead of apologizing, he said, “I don’t want to talk anymore. Bye.”

He was certain his face was an open book by then, and even if Shiro wanted to follow Keith, something in his expression told Shiro to do otherwise. There was no way Keith was going to slow down anyway once he started, and once he was out of view from Shiro, he ran across the campus. He kept his feet moving until he found himself in one of the classroom buildings. The atrium was empty—it was the weekend now, anyways. The corridors were quiet. He peered into a few of the classrooms and the lecture halls. 

Keith tried the handle on the potion room door, but it was locked. Figures. There were a lot of deadly substances in there—the administration wouldn’t want to be responsible for the kids who wandered in without supervision. He found himself in one of the literature classrooms then, rifling through some of the cabinets until he found a book that he deemed suitable for a short read. He sat on the windowsill and read. He didn’t put the book down until it was finished, and everything from before was washed over with the content on the pages.

  


  


“I have never burnt myself on the stove,” Pidge chimed in enthusiastically, and snickered as Hunk, Keith, and Lance took a sip from their cups. “I mainly did that to target Hunk.”

“That’s fair—I work with stoves almost daily,” he confessed. “Never have I ever owned a comfort blanket.”

“Aw…” Lance whined, taking a sip from his cup. “I’ve never grown my hair past my ears.”

Keith, Pidge, and Hunk drank. “Never have I ever… snooped through a person’s bedroom without them knowing,” Keith announced, grinning as he heard a collective groan among his friends. He looked pointedly at Shiro, who sat beside him glaring as he took a sip from his cup. Lance poured himself a bit more from the jar in the center of their group.

“It’s hard not to when you have a roommate,” Pidge whined. “College…”

“Or siblings…” Lance murmured. “Shiro?”

“What? For me to say who I snooped on or to say what I haven’t done?” he asked, and Lance shrugged. “Aside from snooping around Keith’s things… Never have I ever fallen in love at first sight.”

Keith sniggered at him and gave him a nudge. Shiro nudged him back. Pidge donned a thoughtful look, as if waiting to see if her eyes would glow from the lie. Lance and Hunk looked at each other and shrugged. “I’ll go, I guess,” Lance said. “Never have I ever…! Had sex in the shower or bathtub.”

“Goddamit,” Keith hissed, wishing he was taking a shot instead of just a sip of brandy. Shiro attempted to look innocent as he took his sip, only to nearly spit it out when Pidge took a sip. Lance howled loudly, pointing accusingly at Pidge, who went red all the way up to the tips of her ears. 

“Never have I ever _possessed someone_ via _sex_ ,” Pidge snapped quickly. Lance gasped audibly, and muttered profanities as he took gulped down some brandy. Shiro looked at Keith and opened his eyes wide, to see if they would light up. Keith laughed and shoved his face away. 

“I have never received or given a lap dance,” Lance announced.

Keith leaned discretely over to Shiro, but with the alcohol in his system it wasn’t entirely discrete. “That one time, second year in uni? Does that count?”

“I’d say so,” Shiro murmured back. Keith took a sip from his cup. When Shiro didn’t drink, and his eyes didn’t light up, Pidge gawked at them both. 

“Wait, so if this lap dance didn’t involve Shiro then—? You two started dating in primary school, right?” she asked, and Keith nodded.

“We were at a party in secondary school, and a girl gave me a five second lap dance until Shiro told her to get lost,” he explained, and Lance laughed so hard he fell back and spilled some of his brandy. Hunk hid his laughter behind both of his hands, and when he pulled them away it was to wipe away the tears. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Shiro suggested, though he was still somewhat giddy from laughing. He reached over to grab the bottle, but Lance rolled closer and clung to the bottom half. “Lance…”

“No, I want to learn more about how promiscuous Keith is.”

“Then ask _me_ another time,” Shiro suggested, and quickly retracted it once Keith started pelting him with fists against his arms and back. Lance leapt towards them screaming, “Tell me! Tell me!” Keith felt a blow to his stomach and cringed into it, only to be tickled into submission by Lance when he couldn’t get Shiro to break. “What do you know! _What do you know!?_ ”

“Lance—ha!—Lance stop!” Keith wheezed.

“Have you ever used sex toys! Have you ever given a blowjob?!” Lance shouted at the top of his lungs. 

“Never have I ever had a handjob! blowjob!” Pidge yelled as Lance hooted, “Yes! Yes, Pidge! Oh gods, _Pidge!_ ” Keith shut his eyes and sacrificed his stomach to cover his eyes with both hands. He was thankful they were far enough away from civilization no one would hear Lance making obscene noises and Pidge chanting obscene sex scenes. Hunk was dying from laughter, and Keith’s eyes were watering from Lance’s tickle-attack.

Eventually, what felt like ages later, Lance was suddenly lifted into the air. Shiro had him around the midsection, and set him far enough away from Keith so he could recover. Keith was out of breath, and his eyes were still glossy and glowing—but Pidge had been shouting so many things that it could have come from any one of her ridiculous suggestions. 

“All right, that’s enough,” Shiro announced, snatching the bottle up and capping it, his eyes glowing obnoxiously yellow now. “Time to sleep. We move with the sun tomorrow, got that?”

Lance whined aloud, reaching feebly for Keith. He was supported almost entirely by Shiro, who slowly lowered Lance down onto his bed mat before releasing a heavy sigh. He stepped around their fire and returned to his own bed mat beside Keith, and on the way pointed accusingly at Pidge. “Don’t encourage him when he gets like that.”

She sulked, and made large puppy eyes at him. Shiro turned his face pointedly away and stuffed the brandy bottle into his bag. Pidge gave up and flopped back onto her bed.

Keith’s heart was still beating impossibly fast, but he was smiling when Shiro sat beside him and asked, “You all right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he confessed, and grinned as he leant his head against Shiro’s shoulder. 

When he fell asleep that night, it was only after he stared into the sky and counted no less than a hundred stars. He spent some time tracing constellations with his finger, at least until his arms started to tire of that. The Arusian mountains were all around them, towering in his peripheral vision and forming dark, blank holes among the stars. The mountains themselves were congested in tall, narrow towers with flat tops, and during the day the streaks of rock holding them together varied from grey to red. 

During their hike through the valley, there was a rough trail that was created by horsemen passing through. They only ever saw one group pass them by, and they stopped to converse with them for a time. Their dialect was interesting, and Pidge and Shiro were able to mimic it well enough. The dialect was still understandable, but some of their words required translation.

The Arusians, at least, the few Keith ran into, were naturally short—the tallest they encountered was a little under Pidge’s height. But what differentiated them from most people were the extensions off their skulls. Their horns emerged like rams: above their temples and circled around. The size of the horns themselves varied, and at first startled Hunk and Lance into silence. 

It took several encounters for Keith to realize that their ears weren’t quite human, nor were they elvish like Alteans. The cartilage looked as if it was pinched at the tips of their ears, and thus created a sharp point. 

They were friendly people, and despite Shiro and Pidge’s knowledge of the terrane, would direct them in the direction of their destination: the ocean. The fact that they didn’t have horns was a dead giveaway that they weren’t native to Arus, but that didn’t mean they didn’t know what they were doing.

It took a week from the Arusian border to get their first look at the ocean. It started with an extension of the horizon—it just looked like it was part of the sky. But then it broke away from the trees, the rugged terrane, and became a massive blue expanse lined with pure black sand. They emerged at the top of a cliff’s edge to see the ocean for the first time.

The air was humid and brought with it a gust that pulled back the sweaty hair framing Keith’s face. He huffed out and pushed it back, thankful for the mixture of salty ocean air dampening the heat. They stopped housing Rover in the backpack days ago, and she rotated transportation from Keith, Shiro, and Hunk—on occasion Pidge would let Rover sit atop her head, which was what she was doing now.

Keith reached into the pocket of his trousers for the last bag of nuts. He took one out and held it to Rover’s mouth as he heard a collective intake from seeing the ocean from so high up. 

From over Pidge’s head, Keith could see Lance staring in absolute rapture. His dark blue eyes were wide, and Keith could see a hint of glossiness to them. It wasn’t the first time any of them became overwhelmed by Mother Earth’s majesty, but it was the first time Lance ever cried at the sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, IMAGINE THE CLAPPING EMOJI BETWEEN EACH OF THESE WORDS: the - next - chapter - is - my - favorite. Expect it tomorrow! Be there or be square!
> 
> Also, [I totally didn't make a personality quiz based on this book what are you talking about](https://www.playbuzz.com/sarahc82/what-curious-creature-are-you) *wink wink nudge nudge* 
> 
> I JUST TRIED MY OWN QUIZ AND I GOT **EXORCIST** THAT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY ACCURATE. Tell me what you got!


	21. { the ocean }

“We’ll arrive at the ocean tomorrow morning and travel the coast the remainder of the way down. At night we have to move inland—”

“Why?” Lance interjected—it came out fast, panicked, as if he could already tell separating himself from the ocean would be a struggle. Keith was starting to realize that it would be the equivalent of Lance’s first visit to a source well: the kid wouldn’t be able to handle himself. It was beyond the thrill children got, running into the waves. The ocean would be apart of Lance from this point forward.

Shiro looked sparingly at Keith, as if asking whether or not Lance would hurt him for the suggestion. “At night the moons pull on the tides. The entire beach essentially floods, in most locations. Many of the beaches are nothing more than pebbles and rocks because of it.”

Lance was tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for Shiro to give him a better reason. 

Keith rolled his eyes and said, “All right, so we move away from the _flood_ that could potentially _drown us_ if we sleep on the beach. That sounds like a good idea to me.”

They continued down the path that would lower them, slowly, eventually, down to sea level. The path against the cliff face became narrow, and Hunk nervously skirted close to the wall with one hand constantly on the rock. Keith kept a safe distance between him and Shiro, to avoid accidentally tripping him or something. 

In all honesty, he became terrified of heights during that trek down the mountain.

They delved into the dense forests again once on the ground, and Shiro and Pidge produced small machetes from their backpacks for the job. The ocean didn’t seem all that far away until they had to fight through the foliage, and all the trees in their wake. There wasn’t a second where straight, even paths were made. The number of times thorns and branches scratched Keith’s skin was ridiculous, and he came out with red arms and bloody marks on his hands. 

And then, they began to see the blue water through the trees. 

Shiro sliced through a thicket of vines and shoved the branches away, letting Keith and Pidge ahead. Hunk held the branch back for Lance, who gasped aloud and pointed ahead. “Do you see it? It’s right there!” 

“Sure enough,” Hunk mused aloud, and quickly grabbed Lance before he could make a leap straight through a wall of thorny vines. “Hey, hey—watch where you jump, hm?”

Lance scoffed with a casual toss of his hand. “Narrowly saved me from death. Thanks Hunk.”

“I feel like I’m always on watch with you,” he laughed. “Just… watch where you’re going.”

Lance was a spiraling ball of energy waiting to burst. First they saw the ocean, felt it’s breeze, but now he could _hear it_. It was a muffled roar that built up and crashed within him in a way that reminded him oddly of the time he and Keith shared magick sources. The sensation rose with the pull of the waves, and crashed with the push… and each pull brought with it this source of energy, the energy waiting to burst.

The sound was deafening when he finally staggered out onto the beach. There were branches and washed up plants gathered beneath the shade of the trees, and a thick patch of green grass swayed between him and the black sand. Lance could hear someone calling his name, but he was already slipping off his backpack, and pulling up each foot to untie the laces on his boots.

His bare toes touched the sand and sunk into it. The texture was weird at first, and seemed to grate on his skin like burning coals… until he grew accustom to it. He stared at his feet in shock, and the silky sand that buried them.

Lance grabbed the hem of his shirt.

A hand snatched his arm, and just as he was about to yank out of it, he realized that Keith was there with him, stepping into his field of vision. 

“Lance,” he said, that authoritative voice irritating him. _He just wanted to go in the water_. “You have to take this slow, all right? Remember when we linked sources?”

_Odd, I was just thinking about that_ , Lance thought to himself, but nodded all the same. 

“And when we linked sources, you felt my magick? You could have used all of it if you wanted to, at the same time I used it, even,” Keith explained.

Lance furrowed his brows and said, “But you were fixing Nyma—I couldn’t have used your magick.”

“You could have—that doesn’t mean it would have been a _good idea_ , but you could have used it. I tapped into your reserve, Lance. Afterwards you probably didn’t feel all that drained,” Keith started, his hand still holding Lance’s. He felt his fingers itching to break away from Keith and shed his clothes, but Keith’s voice brought him back, “I’ve been hypothesizing, about your magick. I never suspected you… had as much magick as you do. I thought you were a level three on the magick spectrum, considering you haven’t been able to use your own magick willingly.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Keith.

He let out an exasperated sigh, looking back at the ocean. The wind was caught in his strands of black hair, and the loose braid he kept them in was starting to pull apart. “What I’m _saying_ , is that all your magick is essentially… locked up. And I honestly I think it’s because you haven’t been able to form a connection with your elemental half. Which means that all the magick you felt inside of me? You’ll have at your finger tips.

“And for someone who hasn’t been able to use their magick… you have to be careful with it,” he said, and his strained expression gave Lance the impression that Keith was… scared.

“How much of it is there?” Lance asked. “How much reserved magick do I have?”

“A _lot_ , Lance. This isn’t something to take lightly,” he warned, shaking his head quickly. “And if you don’t control it… we aren’t exactly around any source wells to fill you back up.”

Lance studied him, and the way Keith’s brow stood tense, hooding his dark eyes. Eventually, he nodded in understanding and promised that he would take it slow. Keith slowly peeled his fingers off of Lance’s arm, but didn’t move away as Lance shed his shirt and kicked his pants off, leaving on his undergarments.

“I could go for a swim,” Hunk confessed, and unhooked his backpack from his shoulders.

“Do you think Rover could swim?” Pidge asked Shiro, who gave her an uncertain look. She sighed, “Yeah, you’re right. Probably not the best idea…”

Once Lance’s sweaty clothes came off, he realized that it… actually wasn’t that warm out. He stood still for a moment, letting the sun soak into his skin. The air was fresh, the sand was warm, and he could smell the salty sea waiting for him.

Lance stepped away from Keith without hardly realizing his mentor was removing his clothes as well, watching Lance carefully as he approached the edge of the damp sand. A tide lapped up the sand no more than an inch from his feet. The grayish, crystalline sand grains fizzled with white sea foam, and picked up the imprint of Hunk’s footsteps walking towards the water. The waves lapped over Hunk’s dark skin, his flat, squarish feet, and Lance found his own anxiety rising.

“You coming?” Hunk asked, holding out a hand to Lance. He stared at it for a moment before nodding and taking a step towards Hunk to grab hold of his fingers… just as the next wave came in.

The water circled his feet and warmed his skin the instant he made contact with it. The water itself was like bathwater—warm, soothing, and he laughed at the sensation of it. “Ready?” Hunk said.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Lance laughed, and let Hunk lead him into the water. He held on to Hunk’s hand with both of his own, feeling the pebbles under his feet, the waves gaining strength the farther out they went. They were only several feet from the shoreline, but Lance could hardly imagine going any deeper. This was insane. _This was insane_.

There was so much water. 

Lance’s breath started to come fast, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was smiling like an idiot. His chest was tight, and it tightened every time a wave came in and bumped them an inch closer to the shoreline. Hunk laughed, stepping in front of Lance, their hands still connected. He bent down and rifled around on the floor of the ocean.

When Hunk came back up, it was with a sea shell in his palm. “Look, isn’t it— _oh gosh it’s alive!_ ” he screamed and flailed his arms, tossing the crab that started crawling around his fingers. Lance pulled both his hands to his chest, skittering away from the war zone only to come back to reality with a laugh.

“You should have seen your face!” Lance hollered, holding his stomach laughing.

A shout came from shore, and he turned towards it and instantly wished he hadn’t. “Pidge—! At least wear a shirt!” Shiro shouted.

“You can’t stop me!” she screamed back, running shirtless with her arms in the air. “It’s good to be back!” she yelled, hooting and laughing as she plunged into the water. She ran with her knees high, jumping the waves like an expert. It looked like _she_ knew what she was doing.

Lance chased after her, picking up the pace, and jumping with the waves. They became enormous, and Pidge shouted, “Keep your head above the wave!” as another one came in. 

His feet left the floor this time. He screamed, paddling his legs fast as the wave brought them towards the sand. He gathered his footing again and Pidge came up to him. “You have to be careful with those ones. I don’t think there’s any boulders around here, but just in case—if you go under, go with a purpose. Otherwise the wave will spiral you around and you could hit your head.”

“Oh,” he said, and she smiled at him. Without her specs, her eyes looked kind of far apart, like she couldn’t really see. 

“You’re doing good. If we get out far enough, let’s have a contest—see who can ride the wave all the way to shore. You in?” she said, sticking out her hand.

“Am I ever!” he laughed, shaking her on it just as a wave splashed up and washed Pidge’s hair all across her eyes. 

He started the chase out into deeper water. Hunk followed after them, and body slammed into Lance’s back. His arms went around Lance’s waist as he took them both under, and for the first time, Lance was fully submerged.

The effect could be seen from land, and if Lance wasn’t a foot under water, he would have heard Keith and Shiro scream. When Lance and Hunk went under the water, the vacuum that sucked the air out from around them brought up a dollop of water, and the bubbles of their breath leaving them. And then, as the dollop dropped back into the ocean, the tense feeling in Lance’s chest finally burst.

A geyser of water shot up into the air—six feet—eight feet—ten feet tall. At the top of it was Hunk, clinging to Lance for the life of him, and Pidge screaming her head off. Lance’s scream erupted into hyena-like laughter as the geyser sputtered out from under them. Their limbs flailed in the air as gravity pulled them back. 

The water reached for them, sucking them back in with hardly a splash. Lance resurfaced with both arms in the air, turning back to land and screaming, “ _Did you see that!?_ ”

“ _Gods, Lance, be careful!_ ” Keith roared back, fists at his sides. 

Lance turned back to Hunk and Pidge with a hand to his head, his smile beyond control now. He clutched at the light, airy feeling in his chest and how his world felt so vast now. It was strange—he traveled all this way, met so many people, and yet at this very moment… only now did he feel as though he experienced it all. It was all a reality.

  


  


Pidge taught Lance how to swim that day. For the most part he’d just been flailing his arms and trusting the currents that brought him into shore. But she actually had a method that involved rotating her arms, and combing the water, feet kicking behind her. He was a fast learner—Hunk? not so much. They stayed where Hunk could touch the sand. 

Eventually, Keith got into the water—Shiro stayed on shore to watch over Rover. Keith came up to Lance, looking nervous as he did so, and slightly chilly on his upper half. Lance was certain he never once saw goosebumps on the man, but today they were all over his arms and chest regardless of how warm the water was.

“How are you feeling?” Keith asked.

How was he _feeling_? _How was he feeling?!_ Lance wanted to scream and laugh and die all at the same time—ha! As if that question was easy to answer. As if he didn’t feel as though he’d been living life with the blinds closed until today. Now everything that Keith said, everything meant to encourage Lance to control his magick, suddenly made _sense_. All that time his mentor _wasn’t_ speaking in code. 

Lance let out an airy laugh and shook his head, smiling, “I feel like I could take on the world.”

Keith winced a little, and perhaps it was because he looked like he was freezing. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” he said, smiling slightly. “Are you feeling tired at all?”

“Not in the slightest,” he replied, letting his hands sway just over the surface of the water. The tide tugged at their legs, and Keith staggered a little. 

“Could I—I’d like to check your magick source, to see if your reserve is still blocked,” he said, and unfolded his arms to hold his hands towards Lance. He looked at Keith’s flat hands for a moment before lifting his fingers to hold on to them. “You remember the words?” he asked.

“I do,” Lance replied, and waited for Keith to start the rhythm. He closed his eyes as the ritual started, and felt Keith’s magick swell from him like it did the first time. It grew and pressed against Lance, suffocating him in its dry intensity. The first time he felt like he had the air knocked out of him, but this time the punch was softened by this… heavy weight that Lance realized had been sitting in his chest from the moment he saw the ocean for the first time, to the time Hunk pushed him under the water.

It doused him like a heavy syrup, covering every inch of him like the heat of Keith’s magick filling his lungs. At first he thought sharing magick with Keith was incredible— _this_ was what it was like to actually have access to magick. But now he just wanted his own back. He didn’t want to feel like he couldn’t breathe. 

He subconsciously tugged on his hands, but Keith tightened his grip. “Don’t let go,” he ordered.

“I don’t—I don’t like it,” Lance said, shaking his head, eyes screwed shut. 

“Tell me why and I’ll let go.”

Lance couldn’t find words for it at first. He floundered, face screwed up and sour. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it—”

“You have to tell me why.”

He was out of breath. Every time he inhaled, it was like he was filling his lungs, and he couldn’t get that air to escape. It was hot and sticky, and the syrup covering him seeped into his mouth, and—

“I-I feel like you’re crushing me and I can’t breathe. Let go of me. _Let go_ ,” he hissed, yanking so hard that when Keith did finally release him, he fell back into the water. He felt like swallowing a mouthful of ocean water would be better than _that_. “Did you feel it?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you let go?”

Keith stood over him, and the stoic look on his face was haunting. His hair eclipsed the sunlight, dropping a shadow over Lance in the water. “It’s because you’re connecting it to your emotions,” Keith said. “Elemental magick—any magick—is just as emotional as it is physical, mental, and spiritual. I’ll give you a pass this time because you technically _are_ a beginner, but I have been telling you this from the beginning. Disconnect yourself from your source, otherwise it will feel like that all the time.”

Lance stared at him as he simply walked away. Once Keith was back on shore, Lance stared down at his legs that stood out partially from the water. He let the tide push him towards the shore, and pull him back. 

He knew what Keith was talking about—even the water bender told him as much. Before now, he had an entire library to study, and he read plenty of horror stories about sorcerers who were consumed by their magick. It tipped sorcerers over the edge into madness, and was a valid reason for non-sorcerers to fear them. 

Many people were able to balance themselves; in other words, magick-induced madness wasn’t a major threat. But it terrified Lance all the same. 

He felt like he needed to get out of the water before it happened.

He pushed himself to his feet and followed Keith’s tracks onto shore. Shiro was sitting in the weeds in the shade of the trees. Lance stopped at the edge of where the tide licked the sand, and watched someone’s shadow move up beside his. 

“Are you all right?” Hunk asked. “That looked… not fun. Definitely not fun.”

“I’m fine. I think I just need to get out of the water for a while,” he confessed, looking down at the sand between them. Hunk touched his hand to Lance’s, and waited for Lance to initiate it. After a moment, Lance wound his fingers between Hunk’s and held on tight. “I’m still so behind on this whole magick thing.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Hunk said, and when Lance raised an eyebrow at that, he shrugged. “I mean, it’s apart of you, just as… baking is to me. It takes time and practice to learn, but… it’s still a skill, Lance. You’ll get there.”

Lance laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. “Yeah, well, I don’t think we view sorcery the same way but that’s okay. I guess it has something to do with the fact that before this I fully believed I’d be a farmer. Can you imagine?”

“Not one bit.”

“Exactly.” They both laughed at the absurd idea. But back then, Lance didn’t really mind the idea of taking over the family farm. He didn’t think there _were_ any other options because that was all his parents raised him to be. “One of my siblings will take it over now, I’m sure. None of them had magick.”

“You certain of that?” Hunk said, grinning. “I mean, look at how you turned out.” 

“That could seriously turn into a disaster if that’s the case,” Lance said, eyes wide at the thought. He couldn’t imagine anything less than a hurricane occurring if one of his siblings turned out to have magick.

Pidge emerged from the water not long after them and as she marched up onto the sand, Shiro quickly dug into her backpack and chucked a shirt at her. It smacked her straight in the face, and she flailed for a moment before peeling it off, glaring at him. “You never worried about my boobies before!” she whined.

“Okay, number one: Don’t say boobies again, and number two: That was before we had company,” Shiro said as Pidge grudgingly shoved on her shirt.

“I’m surrounded by gay men—I _really_ don’t think this is a problem. And I’m pretty sure Hunk has bigger _boobies_ than me. If we’re have a boob war, it would be a tie between you—yes, _you_ —and Hunk,” Pidge said, jabbing her finger at Shiro as he laid his hands over his chest, an offended look donning on his face. Lance smirked at Hunk, who then flexed his pectoral muscles.

Lance flicked the side of Pidge’s head and said, “For the record, I swing both ways.”

“I don’t see you eyeing _me_ up, so for now I’ll ignore that statement,” she said, snapping her fingers at him before turning to scoop up her backpack. “Now are we going or what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LANCE LANCE LANCE LANCE. There will for sure be another part featuring Lance's point of view and now I'm so pumped to get there too. I have been WAITING FOR THE MOMENT Lance gets to go to the ocean! My beloved sea child! Also, there's a comic on Tumblr that inspired the shirtless Pidge movement here... let me just SEARCH THROUGH THE DEPTHS OF MY LIKES TO FIND IT. 
> 
> Future me:  
> I can't find it. I spent an hour looking for it I don't know where it went. But essentially it was where Lance freaked out about Pidge not wearing a shirt 'cause the air conditioning stopped working and Pidge was like, "Well if you guys don't have to wear a shirt then I don't either!" and Lance says it's because her breasts are bigger than theirs and she's like, "I'm pretty sure Shiro's chest is bigger than mine," and Hunk accuses Pidge of being in the middle of a tit-off with Shiro and wants to join. It's the greatest thing aND I DON'T KNOW WHERE IT WENT.


	22. { the balanced }

Keith tended to think he and Shiro were one of the first to defy the social norm in Devereux. At first a lot of the kids on Keith’s floor thought it was strange that he would willingly hang out with his counterpart almost daily, but they respected him. And he never realized that any of them admired him until they all started hanging out more with their customary counterparts. They were mingling the schools. 

For another two months Keith refused to go anywhere near Shiro’s dormitory, so they stuck to Keith’s room, and the many study spots on their campus. When Keith did return to the customary dorm, however, Shiro’s friends stopped by in the middle of their study session, and upon realizing that Keith was there, _actually_ apologized. They sounded genuine, and had Keith been capable of catching liars back then, he was certain they weren’t lying.

Second year, the disparities between the sorcery and customary kids was less drastic. In fact, Shiro would invite Keith to study sessions that combined both sides of the school. As it turned out, the counterpart program in the first year worked.

Even so, it didn’t change the fact that Keith intimidated a lot of the students. In the second semester of first year, he skipped into second level potions, and the third year history on elemental magick. His sorcery classes were all advanced—courses that specifically four-level sorcerers attended. It was in that same year they were taught how to link magick sources, and that was when a lot of the sorcerer kids started to fear Keith. 

Elemental magick was something a lot of the kids learned on their own, prior to schooling, so being able to _see_ Keith’s own magick compared to their own was intimidating. Some of the kids in the non-advanced classes weren’t balanced in their magick yet, and would rip their hands out of Keith’s if they even dared to try it. Like Lance tried to in the ocean, nearly seven years later.

But because the schools were mixing, and Shiro made more sorcerer friends, it wasn’t long before Keith’s lie about his level of magick came spiraling back to him. He just didn’t expect Shiro to act like all the other sorcerers—intimidated, terrified. 

He figured it was logical. Shiro was a customary student, and if sorcerers feared another sorcerer, it was logical for the customary kid to be just as terrified. Keith didn’t attend the group study sessions often, but when he did he realized that the room usually wasn’t this quiet. The sorcerers were all too daunted by his presence to talk about the homework, as if afraid that he’d tell them everything they did wrong. And they weren’t entire incorrect.

Keith sent letters to Allura wondering if he should just simply skip a grade and be with students who were at his same level, but the administration wouldn’t allow it. While he excelled in sorcery, his general education was still low. And he wasn’t here for the sorcery to begin with—Allura could have taught him all that. 

The realization of that depressed Keith to no end. He didn’t want to be in school for anything _but_ sorcery. He didn’t want to learn math, or political history, or languages _—_ he just wanted to learn about magick. And when Shiro started to shed himself of Keith, it felt like any chance at being tutored in those subjects fell away.

And he didn’t blame Shiro. Shiro was more comfortable with lower level sorcerers for the sake of considering them as just… regular humans. But it was hard to ignore how _very_ magick Keith was, especially when he couldn’t even control his damn temperature. 

It still hurt, though.

And even now, after school and Shiro’s leave, Keith wasn’t entirely sure when he and Shiro started talking again. He was certain that at some point, Keith had the guts to go to the customary dormitory again to chat with Shiro. He imagined his explanation was sappy and childish, and wrought with the emotional grief of losing his only friend to the fact that he _wasn’t_ normal.

Shiro became just as hesitant as usual around Keith, but at least they were talking again. They walked to sixth period together. They studied every now and then in the library, Keith’s room, Shiro’s room. They ate at the same table in the cafeteria. It was tolerable.

At some point Keith started to feel this weird sensation in his chest whenever they saw each other. He figured it was some leftover emotional stress from when he was terrified of Shiro and his friends, but once summer hit he knew that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t scared of Shiro anymore. 

Over that summer—their last summer in primary school—they became pen pals. They sent each other one letter a week. Allura would send out the letters for him on the leg of one of her hawks, and Shiro’s would come back. The first letter was crinkled and sloppily tied to the leg of the hawk, with an exclamation on the inside that read:

_I thought to myself, WHY THE HELL IS THERE A HAWK PECKING AT MY WINDOW. And then when I removed your letter, I thought to myself, WHY ISN’T IT GOING AWAY. Expect another frantic letter if you send another bird of prey, you little shit._

So of course Keith sent another hawk.

Allura would rotate hawks—since the distance was so far, she didn’t want to tire them out. Keith’s letters were detailed, descriptive, and mainly focused on visualizing the town he lived in. He would draw pictures of the source well—though, they were always rough and more or less abstract—and he would record the progress of the garden he and Allura grew.

Shiro would draw back, and the first time Keith received one of his sketches he thought it was a joke. He thought Shiro paid an actual artist to create a fully rendered image of the harbor, but that was definitely Shiro’s signature. Throughout the summer he learned the extent of Shiro’s desire to be a cartographer and researcher. It explained all the detail in his drawings, that was for sure.

Keith clipped the letters to a wall in the living room, and when it became too full he put them in a box. Several years from then, Keith would put them under the floorboards with all of the things Shiro left behind. But at the time, Allura loved to see them, too.

His own letters were often comparable to a journal entry. They went along the lines of: _The entire week has gone by with clouds, clouds, and more clouds. The overcast makes it hard to even look at the sky without squinting—but then again, there are plenty of trees to block my view of it. Today I laid in the grass and thought of your ocean because the dew and leftover rain made it look as though I went for a swim, fully clothed. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but Allura and I miss our nightly stargazing this week. She likes to test me on my knowledge of constellations, and continues to believe that I have some level of foresight. She’s been looking into all the facets—palmistry, tea leaves, the stars. Keith._

Shiro’s replies were a little different: _Sorry to hear about the clouds—you can send some our way. Even by the sea the temperatures are nearly above a hundred degrees, with no clouds. You’d think the breeze would help, but it’s sticky and humid when it comes. It just means that I have been swimming daily if I’m not helping with the shrimp and crab traps offshore. If you haven’t tried crab legs, I suggest you visit me. Brent—from your physical science class last year—is visiting soon. He lives nearby but hasn’t visited the ocean in years_. _Shiro_.

There were few mentions of Shiro’s mother, and when Keith made a point to ask, the response was that she was traveling up the coast. Transporting goods. She was home for the first week Shiro got back, and she initially suggested he come with her, but he didn’t want to leave. He just wanted to relax for the summer, and work when needed.

When Brent visited, Keith was beside himself. He never had letter correspondence with Brent, but the fact that Brent was close enough to Shiro’s village to visit was unfair. Shiro _had_ mentioned on several occasions that Keith should visit—but that didn’t mean he could. If he was capable of traveling like Allura, then perhaps, but even his teleportation cloak would be a hassle. He would be drained at each stop. After the event of his first two consecutive teleportations, Keith had to visit the source well at the school. 

It didn’t stop him from wishing he could spend an entire summer with Shiro, even though he did love having a pen pal. He admitted this in one of his later letters, when the new school year was just around the corner, and Shiro replied back with: _Maybe next summer_.

When they got back to school, Keith was afraid he would suddenly became twice as awkward around Shiro now that he was used to writing letters instead of having an actual conversation—but that wasn’t the case. 

Allura came with Keith to check in for his third year in primary school, and she turned to him and said, “You have everything, right? You grabbed all your underwear, right? What about the tea I bought you?”

Keith’s cheeks flamed and he floundered for a way to stop her from blabbering. “It’s fine, Allura—I’m pretty sure I got it all.”

“ _Pretty_ sure?”

“I’m fairly confident.”

“That isn’t good enough. If you forgot something I’m not coming back down here to deliver it,” she argued, turning her nose up and looking away. A little gasp escaped her and she leaned over to whisper, “Your friend’s here—he just—oh, here he comes.”

Keith looked around frantically and turned around just in time for Shiro to appear, squeezing between a mother and her son. His skin was tan—tanner than Keith could imagine. He looked like an entirely different person. 

He didn’t have much time to survey Shiro’s appearance before he was crushed into a hug. Shiro’s arms clamped around Keith’s shoulders, and, laughing, proceeded to sway the both of them back and forth. Keith was startled by the contact, but managed to rest his hands over Shiro’s back.

“You survived the summer!” Shiro practically shouted in his ear, pulling away and giving Keith a wildly bright smile. He clasped his hands on Keith’s arms and said, “How are you?”

“I-I’m fine,” Keith stammered. “What about you?”

Shiro dropped his hands and said, “I’m great! I just got in a little bit ago.” After saying it, he turned to Allura and held out a hand. She dismissed it and went in for a hug. Shiro laughed and said, “It’s good to see you again, Miss Kogane.”

“Oh, it’s just Allura. Call me Allura,” she said, and gingerly pat her hand over Shiro’s tuft of hair. His lopsided smile grew wider. “I loved seeing all your drawings. You are quite the artist.”

“Thanks—I practice a lot,” he confessed, rubbing a hand over his arm as he looked back at Keith. Keith couldn’t stop staring at Shiro. “Well… I have to go figure out where my room is, so I’ll find you later, all right?”

“All right,” Keith said, and watched Shiro run off back into the crowd, and back to where his luggage was being watched over by a few other kids from their grade. Keith looked around for Shiro’s mother, but it seemed like that group of kids came on their own.

After Allura left, Keith started up the stairs of his dormitory and hunted down his room number. Yet another single room—he didn’t mind it. There were families in the hallway when Keith showed up, and he was roped in to a few introductions to people he wouldn’t remember—siblings of his neighbors, parents of another. Keith set his luggage down outside of his door, and before he could even turn the key someone yelped from down the hall and lunged towards him.

“Keith! Buddy, how you been?!” It was Steve from history last year, ramming into Keith and tackling him in a hug. Keith staggered and managed a genuine smile. 

“I’m fine. How was break?” he asked, and as Steven went on a rampage about his summer, Keith unlocked his door and let Steve join him. 

The room was just like all the other two he had—narrow, with a dresser, a bed, and a window at the far end. Steve wandered over to the window and pulled the blinds open. Sunlight washed over the room, and Keith squinted at it.

“You and Shiro still friends?” he asked Keith as he hopped up and sat himself atop Keith’s dresser. 

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he said, dropping one of his suitcases onto the bed. He asked Steven about what classes he had this semester, and as they compared schedules, a knock sounded on Keith’s open door. Another kid from their classes stood there, and had a chat with them about mealtime for that day. 

“They’re having us meet in the auditorium before dinner. Five o’ clock, I think,” he said, folding his arms over his chest as he leant against the doorframe. He nodded to Keith’s luggage on the bed. “That the alchemy glyphs textbook?”

“Yeah—Allura had one on her shelves at home,” Keith confessed, lifting it out of his suitcase and giving it a once over before passing it along. “She has a lot of books like that.”

“I’d imagine so,” he mused aloud. “Does she have books about bringing people back from the dead?”

“That’s oddly specific. I won’t ask what brought that up,” Keith laughed. “And only one. She doesn’t believe in reanimating people.”

“What about animals?”

“Now that’s just cruel,” Keith chuckled, smiling as he snatched back the book of glyphs. “I don’t want your grubby fingerprints all over this. Don’t you have some unpacking to do?” The two boys groaned, and Steve jumped off the dresser as he rolled his eyes.

“It’s called _living out of a suitcase_ for a few weeks until all your clothes are dirty,” he said, and waved Keith off with a, “Whatever—see you in the auditorium.”

He returned to the task at hand: clearing out his luggage. He slipped off his cloak and hung it in the closet by the door. It was a narrow thing, and was mainly meant for the few clothes that couldn’t be folded. He put the rest in the drawers of his dresser, and started lining up his books atop the wooden piece of furniture when two quick knocks sounded on his door.

Keith looked up from the dresser and found Shiro standing in the open doorway. He had one of his hands tucked into the pocket of his trousers, and Keith tried to push down the lump in his throat that had been there the second Shiro hugged him in the foyer. It made him anxious as Shiro stepped into the room, cautious as he peered into Keith’s open closet and the luggage on the bed. 

“Need help unpacking?” he asked.

Keith pushed a bit of his hair behind his ear and stammered, “I, um—I’m almost done. There isn’t much left.”

His eyes went back to the books on his dresser, and he stared at them until deciding that he had to say something. He heard the bed creak where Shiro leant against it. They were both quiet until Keith turned and started to say something at the same exact moment Shiro tried. “Oh, sorry,” Keith said, covering his mouth.

“No, no, you go first,” he insisted. Keith saw Shiro’s ears go pink. 

“It was nothing—you go.”

Shiro laughed and reached up to twist his fingers around his earlobe. After a moment he looked up. “I was just going to say that I really liked getting the letters you sent me—even if it was via _messenger hawk_.”

Keith laughed and said, “Allura laughed at your first letter for _days_. I’m pretty sure that whenever she laughs to herself it’s over that same letter.”

Shiro threw his head back and laughed loudly, resting a hand over his forehead. “I’m going to miss getting weekly visits from a hawk, if I’m being honest. It was fun.”

He couldn’t believe how prominently Shiro’s words twisted in his gut. He felt like there was a vice around his chest, and someone was continuously cranking the handle around to tighten it until his ribcage turned to powder. He fell quiet under the pressure of it.

Shiro glanced towards the door quickly before getting up and moving to it.

He honestly thought Shiro was just going to leave right then and there, but instead he shut the door. Shiro kept his hand on the handle and looked sparingly at Keith. “Can I… just say something? And if you think it’s weird then I can just leave. I won’t be offended.”

Keith cleared his throat and managed to say, “Go ahead,” even when his lungs couldn’t function.

Shiro stared at Keith with his wide, dark eyes and seemed to lose his breath as well. When the words came to him, he released them fast. “It sounds _really_ weird, but I really missed you over the summer. Like, even though you don’t always talk much and don’t acknowledge me sometimes, every letter you sent me reminded me of how… interesting you are, you know? You don’t see the world the same way I do and that’s something that I want to get to know. And I know it’s [_crazy_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWNaR-rxAic), but… I think I like you as more than a friend.”

Keith’s eyes were probably the size of saucers when Shiro finished, breathless. His hand was still on the door handle, turning white at the knuckles—which was impressive considering how tan he was. Eventually Keith realized that he hadn’t said anything and it sent Shiro into a frenzy.

“You look really freaked out right now,” Shiro said. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said anything. Do you want me to go? Right, leaving—okay—”

_Say something, dammit_ —

All that came out of Keith’s mouth was a squeak when Shiro opened the door and took a step out of it. At that point, realizing that words wouldn’t suffice, Keith ran forward and yanked Shiro back in by the arm. Once inside, Keith slammed the door shut again and threw his arms around Shiro’s midsection. With their heads pressed side-by-side, Keith could feel the fuzziness of Shiro’s hair, and hear the pulse of Shiro’s heart beating. 

Realizing that Keith _wasn’t_ about to maim him, Shiro brought his arms around Keith’s shoulders and stayed there until they could speak. Keith eventually cleared his throat and spoke quietly against Shiro’s shoulder. “I thought I was the only one who thought it was weird.”

Shiro laughed, arms loosening now. “You think it’s weird?”

Keith shrugged, retracting his arms so he could hug them around himself. He wished he had Allura’s cloak on now, just so he could play with the hem of it. “I don’t know. I mean, I _really_ like you but I just thought I was being clingy. To be honest, when Brent came to visit you I was so angry that I didn’t live closer. We could have hung out instead of having to send each other letters—”

“But I liked getting your letters,” Shiro argued. “But like I said: maybe next summer.”

  


  


Sleeping farther away from the beach was tough for Lance, and not simply because he was away from where he could see the ocean. The forests were dense, and almost like a rainforest in the way its vines seemed to cling to, and suffocate tree trunks. They were ropey, and took several cuts for Shiro to slice through them. 

Another problem with sleeping in a forest like that would have to be the bugs and critters. Keith threw up a barrier that kept them out, and possible galra out, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t hear them. Or see the bugs crawling up the side of Keith’s bubble. Their underbellies were ridged, and their bodies were long, and slithering.

Even if Lance _planned_ to sneak out—which he was awfully serious about—he wouldn’t even be able to slip past Keith’s barrier. Unlike the galra bubbles, the one that trapped animals out, also trapped them in. The only reason Lance knew this was because he got up in the middle of the night and laid his hand over the surface. It was like glass.

“Go back to sleep, Lance,” Keith whispered from the ground. Lance glared at him, dropping his hand.

“Can’t I just sit by the water for a bit?” he asked, but Keith was shaking his head the second Lance opened his mouth.

“There isn’t even a shore right now—there’s nowhere to sit,” he said. Lance sighed in response, and returned to his bed mat by stepping over Pidge. Hunk’s arm was flopped over his spot, so he gingerly lifted it and let it fall over his stomach. Lance stared up at the sky that was hardly visible through the dense canopy.

After a moment, he heard movement across the campsite and peaked open an eye to see Keith getting up from his bed. Lance whispered to him, “What are you doing?” 

“Get up,” he ordered, voice hushed.

“You could’ve made that decision _before_ I laid back down—”

“Are you coming or what?” Keith hissed back. As Lance got up, he watched Keith lay his fingers together and cut them through the bubble. He raised the exit for Lance to get through before following suit. The bubble closed behind them. 

It was a bit chillier at night than during the day, but they functioned fine in loose pants and shirts. The bugs were ridiculous, though, and the entire way to the ocean Lance slapped bugs off his arms and the back of Keith’s neck—which Keith didn’t appreciate all that much. He claimed he wouldn’t shoo them away—Lance would have to remember the spell himself. It just made his brain hectic, but eventually Lance recalled it by memory and recited it aloud. The bugs stopped nipping.

Eventually their boots began to sink in the moist soil where the water surpassed the shore. Keith kept walking, so Lance kept up, slipping between the marks in the foliage where Shiro and Pidge sliced through. 

“Remember those midnight meditation session?” Keith asked, returning to his normal voice. Against the noise in the forest, it didn’t seem all that louder than a whisper. 

“Yeah, you said they were pointless for me,” Lance accused, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, that was before I realized that you needed to. As in, before your elemental magick block broke,” he said. “Usually lower-level sorcerers don’t require meditation to balance their magick sources. They skip steps and are faster learners in most cases, because it’s easier for them to control it.”

“But you thought I was at a lower level… but at the same time I couldn’t control my magick,” Lance said, which only made Keith let out an irritated sigh.

“Not everything is black and white, Lance,” he said. “A person’s elemental magick isn’t a defined line, either.”

“Yes, I know—”

“Then did you know Nyma uses earth magick?” Keith asked, and Lance laughed a little as if it was a joke. It was a joke, wasn’t it? Nyma was like Keith, wasn’t she? He watched Keith step ahead into the water a bit, his boots sloshing in it. The ripples in the water reflected back black and blue, and stark white from the moons. The three crescents hung at different points in the sky, and the largest of the three was waning with only a slight degree of its surface visible. 

Keith kicked at the tide coming in before turning back to Lance. His face was serious. “You aren’t kidding?” Lance said.

“She taught herself how to manipulate the human body—not the brain. Fire is naturally good with the brain, but the human body is as much apart of the earth as trees,” Keith explained. “It’s subtle, but she’s good at it. She’s not a natural, but she makes it work fine for someone who isn’t innately earth-centric.”

“You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding—ha ha great joke Keith.”

“Don’t be a child.”

“I’m not a child—I’m just saying that… what you’re saying… it’s ridiculous. Sure, I’ve _read_ about it, but mostly as examples of famous sorcerers with full access to the elemental spectrum. Even beyond the basic four. How is it possible that a normal sorcerer like Nyma can do that?”

“Being normal has nothing to do with it. It’s more or less determination. And Nyma has always been determined, if I know anything about her. When I was younger and Allura introduced me to her, she was teaching herself everything about the human body. I think that’s what makes Allura so fond of her.”

Keith drew a hand over to Lance’s, and centered it down his naval and below his stomach. He meditated with Keith before, but it never involved standing in the ocean forever away from home. “This should help balance you—weave your fingers together.” Lance did as he was told, and recalled how Keith used to tell him how meditation was a method all sorcerers utilized when they felt their magick skewing, and becoming unbalanced. It would take some time before Lance understood what being out of balance insinuated. Clearly Keith recognized that Lance was off balance—but why didn’t he feel like it? He felt like he could take on the world.

They started at the root of the problem—figuratively speaking, spiritual energy was constructed in the image of a tree, and at the nodes where the trunk branched out, there were points at which Lance’s spiritual energy evolved. There were seven tiers, and it started at the base of Lance’s torso. 

When he was less experienced, he always thought meditation was strange and time consuming. For all the sitting around in silence, it was no wonder Lance never felt any better from it. But once Keith coached him into the hush of the waves, and how they pushed and pulled and grew with strength under the moon… Lance could feel what Keith talked about all that time. That vast ocean within his source bubble.

It rippled under his touch, and stirred in his stomach as he moved his hands up to the next node. He remembered when he watched Keith do this—it was so boring until Keith’s marks started to glow. Even with his eyes closed, Lance could tell that his own were starting to shed light. It spiraled around his arms, following the coast of the waves over his wrists.

He wondered how long this would take. Keith must have heard him sigh, because not a moment later he sensed Keith peek open an eye to glare at him. “You just can’t sit still, can you? Don’t answer that.”

Lance would have rolled his eyes if he could. He pictured the sky—he wished he could look at it now. He wondered if, out beyond the reef where the water was still, the sky reflected off the ocean surface like a mirror. He hoped it did. Would the water keep him afloat out that far? Would he be able to lay still, floating at the surface, and stargaze to his heart’s content? 

He realized he probably wasn’t meditating properly. Keith had stopped talking. It pitched Lance into the darkness of his own mind behind his eyelids.

He reached up to the third node, but felt little change this time. His breathing was loud in his own ears, and he wondered if Keith could hear it. Could his mentor tell he wasn’t focusing just by listening to his breathing? The temptation to open his eyes was unreal. 

Maybe just a peak…

Lance lifted one eyelid, and jolted at the fact that he was home. His bedroom was familiar, with its dark black sheets and blueish quilt. He sat up from the bed—something got his attention. Was there—it sounded like someone was in his apartment. This scene felt awfully familiar, but in the strangest sense. Like he could actually see clearly this time around.

He got up without hardly acknowledging the fact that Hunk was with him. Hunk was in the bed. The weak feeling in his knees reminded him of what day this was. _Don’t come in the room—Don’t come in the room_ —

“Lance? Lance, are you there?” Pidge sounded so wary, searching the kitchen and bathroom of his flat. Someone tried the handle on his door. 

“It’s locked—he’s in here,” Shiro’s voice was hushed, as if Lance couldn’t hear him. “Here, take my coat.”

“You aren’t seriously going to—”

The door jolted under the impact of Shiro’s shoulder ramming against it. On the second attack, Lance heard part of the doorframe give. The third, it splintered. _Don’t come in_ —

The second the door opened, Lance flung his arms up without a second thought. The same three words kept repeating in his conscious brain. Shiro fell back under the impact, taking Pidge down with him as Lance rounded the edge of the bed, clawing his hands into the air and dragging Shiro up into the air. Pidge shrieked as her mentor clawed at his throat, trying to break free. 

Lance dodged the heavy book Pidge chucked at him and with two fingers raised, he crossed it down, dropping Shiro just as Pidge ran away to fetch something heavier to fight Lance with. 

“Gods—” Shiro choked, wheezing as he struggled for breath. “Pidge, don’t—” 

She came screaming into the room with a chair. Lance dodged her first swing, and subconsciously found himself grinning. She looked furious. He only knew her for a short period of time, but he swore this spark was made for her. She fit the profile of a small furious child as she wielded the wooden chair against him. 

He faced her as she backed herself into the end table. He grappled for the edge of her chair and yanked on it; she winced at him and said, “You’re so naked—I really don’t want to fight you when you’re like this but…”

Something hard hit the back of Lance’s neck. It hurt like a sonuvabitch, and he fell against the chair Pidge clung to. A hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him, and before he could get out a single curse, Shiro put his fist to Lance’s face and all was black again.

Lance came back panting, but his eyes were sealed shut. He couldn’t open them. A bubble of white light morphed from the right side of his left eye—around the bridge of his nose. If he knew anything, it was exactly what that meant.

“Keith—” he started, before suddenly being over come by the white world of the galra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no chill. I am CHORTLING who clicked the link WHO CLICKED IT.
> 
> These past two days I've determined how I'm going to end it. It's weird because usually I never finish books I don't have a definitive ending for, but it will probably take four chapters to get there from here. WHICH ISN'T TO SAY I'm going to end there. I want to jump back in time to what Keith did to become so famous, and it will probably be one of those long long chapters with two or three parts, but like it's own little story. I can't believe I determined this all over Thanksgiving. 
> 
> Also omg I got a kick out of your responses for the quiz XD I'm DECEASED making quizzes is so much fun! If you haven't done it yet, here's the link: [x](http://www.playbuzz.com/sarahc82/what-curious-creature-are-you).


	23. { the iconoclast }

The heavyset structure of the galra’s face was straight, watchful, as if he had been standing directly before Lance all this time. There was no more than several feet of distance between them. 

“I had you,” the galra all but sneered at Lance, furry, pointed ears flattened back. “ _I had you!_ ”

Lance’s chest heaved, his fingers locked where he rested at the third node of his breast. It felt as if that was all that prevented the galra from attacking him right then and there—his hand held up between them.

The galra’s eyes flared at him—those long, clawed fingers clutching for his throat. “Did you really think—it would be that easy to _evade me?!_ ”

“H-How—” Lance’s voice broke away, shaking. “How are you here? You don’t—You don’t control Shiro anymore—”

He was surprised that the galra was even listening to him. Deep down he suspected it was a one-way bond—the galra could speak to him, but Lance couldn’t speak to the galra. That didn’t seem to be the case anymore. That squarish jaw ticked, and then those lips twisted to reveal sharp, demonic teeth. “I don’t need that man anymore,” he said, stepping close. 

Perhaps it was Lance’s frantic mind, but he swore he could feel the galra’s breath on his face. “You little shit,” the galra laughed hollowly, his grin dampening to a strained, stoic face. “I never left you. And I never wanted _you_.”

The claws of the galra went through Lance’s throat with hardly a breeze. It wasn’t cold and damp like a spirit’s normally was—it was absolutely nothing, but the idea that it _could_ be something shocked Lance’s chest painfully. The galra clutched his fist through Lance’s neck, cursing at their lack of connection.

Keith was right about one thing: the galra couldn’t affect him here.

“I _want_ Keith Kogane,” the galra hissed. “Give him to me.”

Lance laughed nervously, his chin turning up to avoid the fingers that crawled through his skin. “E-Even if I knew how I wouldn’t—”

“Really?” the galra chuckled, his hand passing over Lance’s eyes before he walked to Lance’s left, circling him like a panther. “Simply as an obligation to your mentor, or because you genuinely care for Keith Kogane?”

Lance glared up at the galra who stood nearly a foot above him. This close it was easy to tell just how monstrous these creatures were—in size and appearance. “I care about Keith.”

“How can you be certain he cares for you?” the galra asked. “People like us—like Keith Kogane—are egomaniacal by nature. Magick like that makes us self-seeking. You cannot seriously believe he is training you out of the good of his heart. He never wanted an apprentice. You’re holding him back.

“Look at him—” The galra turned to the side, removing his hand from Lance’s head to gesture towards the white bubble they stood in. Keith materialized in a dusty cloud of white, standing with his reflection rippling against the white floor. Lance’s feet looked as though they were cut off. Keith had his eyes closed, hands focused over his neck.

Lance rarely had a moment to simply observe Keith—mainly in fear of being caught staring and smacked upside the head for it. But now, in the pure white world, Lance saw how rough Keith looked. It took weeks to get here. Keith spent magick on them daily and nightly to keep them safe. His eyes, even closed, showed how tired he was. His nose was red—chilled from standing in the water. His shoulders sagged underneath his sweater, and it filled in the gaps where his scrawny frame hid. 

Keith looked awful, and the galra could sense Lance’s guilt before it even hit him. 

“You shouldn’t be Keith’s problem,” the galra insisted, and drew his hands out at his sides, “and yet here we are.”

“But Keith is my…” Lance faltered. Lance couldn’t even use magick until now. Keith was just babysitting him all that time, for no reason—not really, anyways. He was just one of the many weights Keith held on his shoulders.

“He is neither your friend or mentor—the same goes for everyone in his life. Whether he knows it or not.”

“That isn’t true.”

“It is—you are just as blind and ignorant as when Keith Kogane first took you under his tutelage. You may think things have changed now that you’ve _enlightened_ yourself, but what purpose does Keith have for mentoring _you_? You are a drawback, have no control, and are decades behind the average sorcerer.” The galra cornered him, blocking Lance’s view of Keith that he so desperately sought as the galra closed in. His breathing hitched as the galra passed his fingers through Lance’s neck again, a threatening expression crawling over his face. 

“The only time you ever truly had control was when _I_ was apart of you. Let _me_ control your magick, Lance. All of Keith Kogane’s power can be yours if you simply let me in.” 

An image forced itself into his brain: the sensation of Keith’s magick enveloping him in Nyma’s apartment. The warmth of it, the spacious quality of it. He wanted his magick to feel like that—

But then he remembered the syrup filling his lungs.

“Fuck you,” Lance spat. His sharp words cut into the white clarity of the galra’s world, and as it all turned to the black sand around him, he saw the galra snarl at him once more, “I am not going away.”

  


  


Keith felt more refreshed than usual waking up the following morning. All of them chose to sleep in, considering that they were nearly to their destination; they could stand to laze around for a small while. Their food supply was still high—stashed away in Keith’s endless satchel—and the ocean was a highlight. Despite Keith’s indifference to water, he found himself inwardly thrilled about Lance’s magick. It wasn’t even _his own magick_ —and yet, he found it necessary to be excited _for_ Lance. The kid really turned into a buzzkill though, and Shiro claimed it had to do with the fact that Keith forced Lance to share their magick sources for that short while.

Rover sat alongside Keith in the sand as Pidge pushed sand into mounds and dug holes for Rover to crawl into. At the time, Lance and Hunk were sitting where the water lapped up against their legs, making drizzle castles while Shiro went out for a swim. Shiro was far beyond the small tides, and despite the fact that Keith _knew_ Shiro was an excellent swimmer, he couldn’t help but feel terrified of Shiro drowning. 

His eyes remained trained on Shiro until he heard Rover let out a hoarse cough next to him. The sound horrified Pidge. “Is she sick?” she asked. 

“I don’t think so—maybe she ate some sand,” Keith suggested, but that was just odd. Rover only ever ate nuts now. They only had one shell piece left. 

Rover’s back curled up and she coughed again—it sounded like a bark, and it got Lance and Hunk’s attention. Hunk cried out, rushing over to his drake child and drawing her up into his arms. Her claws sunk into the flesh of his shoulder and she parted her jaws wide before hacking again.

“Uh… that one was kind of scalding,” Hunk said aloud, gently plucking Rover’s claws from his skin.

“Here, give her to me,” Keith ordered, and thankfully he did—because no less than ten seconds later did Rover cough out an ember the size of a cashew. It was smoking and smelt burnt, and the specks of glowing orange faded quickly once it touched the sand. 

“So, uh… no cashews?” Pidge said with a shrug.

“Agreed: no cashews,” Keith said. 

Rover coughed again, and this it sparked a flame down her throat that came up in a fiery burp. Keith was thankful he wasn’t wearing a shirt, otherwise it would have burnt the fabric on his arms. 

Pidge scrambled back with a shout, and Hunk shrieked, hands drawing up to his mouth. Keith shook out his arm and retained no damage from the blaze, and was in fact smiling ridiculously at Rover. “You little shit,” he laughed. She huffed out steam from her nostrils. “Can’t you just throw up food you don’t want like a normal pet?”

Pidge leapt up and ran to her backpack to record the date Rover first breathed fire. After Rover was successfully calmed down, she crawled out of Keith’s arms and went to Hunk. She climbed up to his shoulder, breathing in and out fast as she propped her front claws over his hair. Her tail curled around his neck and she stayed there as Hunk turned to look at Lance almost as if to say, “Please don’t let her burn my hair off. Please.”

Keith rubbed his fingers down Rover’s back and glanced briefly at Lance, who had his eyes trained on the drake with a sort of lost quality to his gaze. It wasn’t hard for him to make the connection: Lance had been acting strange ever since they finished their meditation session. The fact that Lance’s source was far more level now than before didn’t seem to faze the lad. 

He kept his eyes on Lance as they started onwards. Pidge led the way, and Keith fell into the back with Shiro, his eyes trained on the back of Lance’s neck. Something was off, but he wasn’t sure what. Was Lance usually this quiet? But Hunk wasn’t saying anything, and Hunk knew Lance better than Keith did. 

Or perhaps they were just keeping it quiet. 

Though Hunk couldn’t lie for the life of him.

Keith _could_ always cast the truth spell for the sake of finding out what the hell was the matter with—

“You look like you’re about ready to burn a hole in the back of Lance’s head,” Shiro whispered to Keith, who turned his heated gaze directly onto Shiro then. The man raised his hands in surrender, and leant closer to say, “What was going on last night? I woke up and the both of you were gone—”

“We were meditating by the water,” Keith replied with a scoff. “Why?”

“No reason.”

After a moment, Keith realized what Shiro was doing, and _damn_ was it working. The desire to say what was wrong was on the tip of his tongue, but there was still the problem of voicing it. “I guess I’m just… worried.”

“About what?” Shiro tugged on Keith’s arm, and smoothly linked their fingers together. 

“About _Lance_ , duh, what else is there to be worried about? It’s not like we’re going to some remote village to school some uncivilized people about performing rituals on strangers,” he snapped, the thought of it riling him up.

“They aren’t uncivilized.”

“The fact that they hex strangers tells me they are. That isn’t exactly _great etiquette_ in my opinion,” Keith grumbled under his breath, and looked pointedly at Shiro knowing that he couldn’t argue against that. “But on the topic of Lance… I’m worried about not being able to prepare him for… things like _this_. Like impromptu exorcism sessions and breaking hexes. He definitely has potential, but…”

“But you can’t exactly start _now_ while we’re traveling,” Shiro finished, and Keith nodded. “Who said you _can’t_ , though?”

Keith almost laughed, and stifled his snort when the idea came to him. “Wait a second—like a traveling classroom.” 

“That’s essentially the entirety of what Pidge and I do,” he said.

Keith slapped his hand to his forehead and whined, “Why did I think of that before? What am I even doing? I guess I didn’t need to bring twenty curse and hex books with me.”

“ _Twenty_? Where do you keep them all?” Shiro said, surprised as Keith flipped open his satchel and reached a hand in. He dug around before dipping his entire forearm in, followed by his bicep before finally pulling out his tattered leather-bound journal.

He skimmed through the pages before finding the one from is conversation with Nyma. It included obscure phonetics that made up the entirety of her spell that pulled Shiro free. He ran ahead to catch up with Lance and Hunk.

“Lance! Lance,” he called out, and pushed his journal into the hand that hung at Lance’s side. The lad clasped his fingers around it, and looked at it in confusion. “I want you to help me, when we get to the village,” Keith explained.

“…With what?” Lance said, squinting at the page. “Is this—?”

“It’s the spell Nyma used to exorcise Shiro,” Keith said. “I want you to memorize it. You can keep the journal too—it’s kind of old, but I mostly kept spells I made myself or adjusted, things I already have to memory.”

He ended by looking up at Lance, who was staring at him bizarrely. Keith could feel his ears go red—why did he have to be embarrassed for wanting to help his student? _So much for putting up an aloof front_ , Keith mused. 

Lance glanced back down at the journal and flipped through several of the pages. There was a table of contents at the front that Keith pointed him to, and he watched as Lance read through them, gasping here and there about wanting to try out spells—like continuous buzzing mosquitos without the presence of the mosquitos.

“I can’t believe—when did you do this?” Lance asked, skimming ahead to it.

“When we were waiting for you to come out of the marking ritual,” Keith confessed. “I had a lot of free time.”

“…Can I try it?”

“No.”

“What about making my own never-ending bag?” he asked, and when Keith didn’t deny it at first, Lance gasped loudly. “I can have my own never-ending backpack?!”

“It takes a week for the spell to settle in and it’s tailored to each user which creates a lot of variables and—Stop looking at me like that. It’s never-ending in the sense that you can fit anything it in so long as it fits through the opening, but without taking into account the variables you risk the chance of _losing_ everything you put in there,” Keith explained, and opened up his own satchel. “Reach in and look for the book on _Conscious Mindscape_.” 

Lance peered into the bag and looked around. On the first go he pulled out a book—with the wrong title. The second time around he successfully pulled free the novel. “What else did you feel?” Keith asked.

“Nothing. Just the binding.”

“Exactly. There’s food in there and who knows what else,” Keith said, snapping shut the flap and saying, “It’s more or less a ‘ _seek and you shall find’_ satchel.”

“That’s incredible,” Lance said, awed as he peered down at the _Conscious Mindscape_ novel. “Why did you bring this along?”

“Because it talks about dividing the body and mind,” Keith explained, reaching for it. The theory came back to him then: “I figured if Nyma was wrong about the galra just disappearing, being able to trap their minds would work. If they have minds, that is. It might require bringing them _fully_ from their dimension to our own.

“You can’t control them in their plane of existence, which suggests that they don’t have a physical or mental form to control,” he finished, and furrowed his brow at the book before preparing to put it away. Lance snatched it from him quickly and held it to his chest, along with the novel.

“I want to read it. Considering I haven’t yet, you probably hid this in your house, didn’t you?” Lance said, his accusation accompanied by a cheeky eyebrow angling up. Keith rolled his eyes and didn’t deny it.

He glanced back at where Shiro was walking a few paces behind them. Shiro raised his eyebrows, as if to say, “What did I tell you?” Keith stuck his tongue out at him. Something about this seemed awfully familiar. Shiro’s suggestions always seemed to work out one way or another. 

The group walked onwards for the majority of the day. They took snack breaks frequently to avoid losing concentration and improve determination. All of their limbs were sore, and it felt like Keith’s legs were made out of metal poles digging into the heels of his feet. During their afternoon break, Hunk flopped down on the ground and cranked off his boot. He had a blister on the underside of his foot, and Keith went ahead and healed it for him. He stuck a needle into the side of it, let the moisture leak out, before holding his palm firmly against it. 

Hunk giggled about how his foot suddenly heated up, and a moment later the skin was healed on his foot. “Wow, you’re good at that,” he commented, tugging on his socks again. 

“Blisters are nothing,” Keith said. “Lance probably could’ve fixed that for you.”

He expected Lance to complain about the low blow—that was Keith’s intention, anyway—but when he looked over at the lad, Lance had his nose buried in the book. Keith turned back to Hunk, who offered a weak shrug. Keith crossed his legs and flattened out the sand in front of him before writing out: “Is Lance ok?” 

Hunk flattened out his words and wrote back: “I think so ??”

Keith scowled at Hunk, only to receive yet another uneasy shrug. He angrily scribbled underneath Hunk’s words: “He didn’t take the bait though.”

“Maturing, maybe?” Hunk said aloud. “Maybe tired. Tired seems more accurate considering.”

Keith groaned and scrubbed his hand over their correspondence. “Fine, whatever. I’m going to go wash my hands.”

“Oh yeah, because you touched my feet.”

“That sounds like a fetish,” Pidge interjected after pulling out a jar of jam from Keith’s satchel. She instantly looked over at Shiro. “Do you know anything about that, Shiro?”

“No foot fetishes as far as I know,” he answered.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith whined. They were all laughing now and Keith grumbled under his breath as he hopped up and marched down to the water as Pidge said something about one of Keith’s many assumed fetishes. 

Keith shook his hands around in the water, rubbed at his palms before straightening back up, and staring across the water. The horizon line was a blur of white where low clouds sat on the ocean surface, and the breeze carried with the salty dampness of the water. His stomach growled, so he turned back to the group as Pidge held up a slice of bread to him.

“Toast it please,” she asked.

“Not until you say I don’t have a foot fetish.”

“I tell the truth and nothing but the truth.”

“That’s the biggest goddamn lie I’ve ever heard,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “No toasted bread then.” She relented after a while and Keith took her slice of bread between both his hands and a moment later the scent of golden toast filled the air. He did the same to the rest of the group’s bread before taking his own and smearing jam on it. He licked a bit of sugary strawberry off his finger and began eating with his shoulder pressed up against Shiro’s. 

Shiro had the map laid out over his knees and Pidge peered at it from Shiro’s other side. She pointed to the line marking the shore, and said, “This is where we are, correct? Because the Druid Cliffs are just over there.”

She pointed ahead of them, and Keith looked towards the peaks of the mountains just beyond the massive forest canopy. Their flat-topped tips came in quick succession, and they would most likely pass them as they continued that day. The mountains were farther away now, and by the sound of it, they wouldn’t be returning to the mountainous clusters.

“Right, which means we only have about another five days of travel at the rate we’re going,” Shiro said, and glanced at Pidge for confirmation. She nodded. He folded up the map and finished off the crust of his bread. “All right then, let’s get moving. Maybe we can cut the travel time a bit.”

They all agreed to it. Keith stood up and felt something itching the back of his neck. He rubbed at it and turned, finding Lance staring at him from not too far away. Lance went a bit red at the ears and looked away, sealing his lips shut.

  


  


The world was ignorant to assume that Altea was the last of the lands to be sucked back into the ocean. Keith always thought it was stupid to believe that. Allura always gave him the impression that Altea was simply a warning, and Mother Nature would come after them. Eventually.

He took sciences classes that led to tangents and digressions on what happened to Altea. It was simple really, all very logical, according to them. But it was hard to pass it up as anything but an act of the gods. There were far more believers nowadays than there were before Altea. The temples in the city were more or less congested on the day of rest. Allura and Keith believed, but they never felt the need to attend services or anything of that sort in their small sleepy town. Especially since the vast majority of rural people didn’t believe in a greater force at hand.

Keith went to the temple once during school, and it was with Shiro. It was after their graduation from primary school, before they would pack up and head home for the summer. That summer, though, Shiro opted to stay in the city. Being as young as he was, Shiro got help from a professor who had a friend asking for a helping hand over the summer. Shiro would be able to live above the man’s restaurant in return for his labor. 

“You don’t have to come,” Shiro reminded Keith as they mounted the steps of the temple. There were people leaving as they stepped through the open archway of the building, and Keith noted the scent in the air. It was heavy as they entered the main hall. 

The walls were covered in tiles—multicolored ones, painted ones, designs that, when Keith stepped closer, were carved and drawn on by children. The tiles arched up and ended with a stone, rounded ceiling. Keith stared up at it with his mouth drawn in a straight line, and the stain glass windows cut into the stone at sporadic places, in large sections, small sections— _beautiful_.

When he returned his gaze to eye level, he came face-to-face with Shiro’s amused grin. “Having fun?” he asked humorously, and Keith shoved him playfully with his arm. He linked his elbow around Shiro’s at the same time. “I still can’t believe you’ve spent three years in the city and haven’t even visited the temple _once_.”

It was kind of a surprise. Usually the campus was closed, which meant students needed passes to leave during the week. On the day of rest, students were able to join the group heading to town—the main purpose being to visit the temple. Every now and then Shiro left with the group. Keith always stayed behind.

“You know my point of view,” Keith said stiffly, and gripped the strap of his satchel as he peered in to the rooms posted on either side of the main corridor. They passed them, but it didn’t stop Keith from noting the dim lighting in the rooms, and the elaborate colors that highlighted flowers and gifts surrounding massive statues. 

“Iconoclasm doesn’t mean you can’t visit a temple,” Shiro murmured quietly. Voices carried in this hall, after all. 

“I am not violently rejecting icons,” Keith countered, voice hushed. “I just don’t believe it’s _important_.” 

“Either way it doesn’t mean you can’t visit.” 

Keith sighed, and Shiro simply laughed and tightened his grip around Keith’s arm. They were both on the verge of fifteen years old. Even being close to Shiro made Keith giddy from head to toe and the sensation was hard to cope with. It made him feel like everyone could see and understand him in a way he could hardly understand himself. 

It made sense for Keith to not understand a thing that was happening to either of them. They were entirely ahead of themselves, but it felt nice all the same.

Shiro tugged Keith into a room on the left, and inside Shiro tugged off his bag and readjusted his shirt. Keith sat on one of the benches on the outskirts of the room. It was relatively empty, and there was only one other woman in the room. She left soon after Shiro approached the shrine.

Keith spent a lot of time in the silence of Shiro’s concentration. The murmur of echoes from the main corridor drifted in through the arched doorway. The colorful tiles outside seemed to reflect on the light streaming in from the entrance, and shimmer on the polished tiles leading up to Shiro’s bowed form. For the moment, it was awfully dreamy—the light carrying over Shiro’s thin summer shirt, over the ripple of the sleeves, catching on the pale skin of his neck. His tan from the previous summer faded in the winter months.

Keith had a wonderful habit of zoning out. His half-lidded eyes traveled to Shiro’s dark hair, caught in the shadow that fell over his front, casting across the tiles and to the shrine where a wisp of smoke rose from burning incense. 

Where the light from the hallway drifted, it faded around the edges of the sculpture. Keith stared at it. It was the image of a woman leaning to the side, an arm extended in front of her, and behind her. The cloth was hooked to her arms by rings, and the carved marble gave the impression of a breeze carrying it behind her like a cloak. It curved partially around where Shiro stood. It was magnificent and massive and dropped dark shadows where it stood.

When Keith realized how much of the room was pitched into darkness, the dreamy feeling vanished. The pupil less eyes of the statue were trained on him.

He stood up from the bench and walked out of the room. He stepped off to the side and let his back rest against the tiled wall, Shiro’s bag in hand and head tilted back against the wall. He stared at the ceiling until someone emerged from the room and found him not far beside it. 

Shiro stepped up to him and took his bag back. “You okay? You look pale—I mean, there’s really nothing new with that but just… paler than usual,” he said, and Keith laughed lightly.

“I’m fine. How was it?” he asked, and Shiro replied positively before suggesting they head out. They passed the room archway again, and Keith looked in briefly at where the stone cloth of the statue reflected ripples of light back. He turned away and walked a bit faster to catch up with Shiro and cling to his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a short story by Flannery O'Conner called _Parker's Back_. There's a character who is hardcore against religious icons, and her husband goes and puts a tattoo of God's face all over his back and she's like, "HELL NO GET OTTA MY HOUSE" and he's like, "I DID IT FOR YOOOU! YOU LOVE GOD DON'T YOU?!" and she was all, "YES BUT I DON'T LOVE THAT MAN ON YA DANG BACK." It's a really interesting concept, and would explain a lot about Keith's views on the gods and such in this world.
> 
> But in other news, I FINISHED writing the main bit of the book and it is officially 166 pages in 12 pt Mrs Eaves font, but I've decided... that I just want to weave Keith's legend into the story before the super long epilogue. Also, remember when I said I was winging it? Still totally winging it, **which also means:**
> 
> I had to adjust the warnings. Check 'em out lmao *runs away*


	24. { the projection }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today did not go as planned, but UPLOADING ANYWAYS because if life doesn't go as planned, then at least my updates can still be on schedule. BRIEF STORY: I went home for Thanksgiving and I took one of those double-decker buses with plans of taking the same bus BACK to where I go to school. BUT they switched buses and we didn't know that it was the bus I was supposed to take until it was basically ON THE FREEWAY so long story short I missed my bus, took A TRAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME and now I'm EMOTIONALLY AND PHYSICALLY EXHAUSTED. I've never felt so stressed out in my life and usually I just go with the flow ya know and this was like THE LAST STRAW. Consider all of the straws GONE AT THIS POINT.
> 
> Anyway, author's note at the beginning so it doesn't obstruct the upcoming chapter!
> 
> We left off on Keith and Shiro leaving the temple.

The truth was that something about the force of nature seemed all-powerful and monumental. Something like that, and the divine power behind it, seemed unfathomable, and the fact that people were able to select the face of mankind for it seemed ridiculous. Something of that magnitude couldn’t possibly have the face of a human.

Some people thought of Keith, and other sorcerers, as autocratic. It was supposedly their hamartia, and they were born to be killed by the flaw that made them anything but human. It was like sorcerers were born to become power-hungry and play their hand as a deity. No one deserves that kind of power.

Which was why sorcerers were limited by their elemental magick. Keith learned about it the first day in secondary school. He never even considered it until his professors said, bluntly, “We are incapable of playing god because gods control everything. We have always been restricted by the boundaries of our elemental magick. As you know, elemental magick opens several doors, but not all of them. Fire is mentally flexible. Earth is physically flexible. Air, emotionally. Water, spiritually. 

“We are all able to balance these, but the branches off these sections of elemental magick cannot be crossed over easily. Fire and earth work well with the human body, but unlike earth, fire is known to read minds, reading affect displays. Earth is twice as good at healing wounds—other elemental magick is at a disadvantage there. Dreams are a strong quality in water elemental magick—they can often be seen as prophetic. Fortune tellers are often influenced by the water.

“But you can dabble,” she told them, but it came out uneasily. Of course, that didn’t stop people like Nyma from _dabbling_ to the extreme. Nyma was famous for the fact that she could control the human body like that, but the fact that she chose corpses really freaked people out. They weren’t all that interested in getting mixed up with her after discovering her odd fascination.

Keith had never really been able to dabble much with his main magick source. It required more than his usual supply of magick to _dabble_.

So when it came to teaching Lance things Keith barely even tried himself, it was rather tough. “Astral projection isn’t exactly my forte,” he admitted, and Lance whined weakly for Keith to at least give it a shot. 

“I want to see you do it so I know it’s possible,” he insisted.

“It _is_ possible—I’m just not very good at it,” Keith argued, all the while Lance continuously chanted, “Please, please, please, please, _please…_?”

Keith put his hands over his eyes with a groan. Whenever he closed his eyes for more than two seconds, they started to burn at the idea of ever opening again. He was just so exhausted—he wasn’t sure if he could go another night with only five hours of sleep. Training Lance accurately meant dedicating time when everyone else was asleep. But that didn’t mean Lance was any better off. 

He supposed Lance was in the same position _he_ was in: exhausted, achy from walking, and bruised at any place their backpacks bumped against their bones. After swimming with everyone, Keith could see where the sacrum bone attached to their pelvises. The only reason he could see it was because they were _all_ visible—red, in fact, from the weight of the backpacks against their lower back dimples. And he certainly wasn’t the only one with purple bags under his eyes, dirt on his skin, grease in his hair. 

“It’s _such_ an esoteric method, Lance,” Keith complained, sniffing as he pushed his hands away from his eyes and sighed. “Believe it or not but there are some things that I don’t even understand.”

“You said you’re not very good at it,” Lance said, “which means you tried it at some point. And were sort of successful. All I’m saying is that you give it a go.”

Lance clasped his hands together and produced that same kicked-puppy expression Pidge used to get her way with Shiro. Keith knew he had no excuse for falling for it, and tried not to question it as he relented to Lance’s wishes.

The tough thing about performing an out-of-body experience at that time was Keith’s overwhelming desire to sleep. He couldn’t sleep for this: in the end he wouldn’t even feel refreshed.

Keith laid down on his mat. They never left the bubble that night, and simply talked in hushed tones to avoid waking the others. Keith pushed his hair out of his face and adjusted the loose material of his shirt before looking over at where Lance pulled his knees up to his chest. “It might take a bit. What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing in particular. Go wherever you want,” Lance said, and placed his chin on his knees. “Take your time.”

It took a while before Keith was able to stop scowling. Once physically relaxed, he shaped his thoughts into a narrow line—the direction homeward. He traversed this narrow thread to the one place he knew significantly better than anywhere else: the cabin in the woods.

The front porch took shape, but it was foggy—he wasn’t there yet. He entered the house, and pictured the cool metal of the handle under his palm. He wasn’t there yet. He heard the creak of the floorboards under his feet, and he passed onto the carpet on the floor of the living room. He saw the hearth—embers of a past fire still glowing there. He sat on the stone ledge of it, and saw the tongs Pidge left behind, sitting beside the poker. He reached to pick them up, as if to take them back with him, and once lifting it realized that he had no way to return it to Pidge.

He was here.

When he set the tongs down, the metal _tink_ ed against the stone on the hearth. The rough, gritty texture of the stone itself felt warm from the fire. He breathed in the scent of home—the herbs, the distinct feeling of peaceful warmth, of sturdy intimacy. He knew this place better than anyone or anything. He sat on the hearth and wished it were possible. For him to embrace the entirety of this goddamn cabin and never let it go. He didn’t want to leave. 

His knees fell to the side, loosely, and a sickening sense of loneliness overcame him. What was he doing, so far away from here? The question translated into hot moisture leaking from his eyes, and he let them drip over his cheeks and turn to stiff tear-lines. 

He knew that wailing wasn’t a grand idea. At least some of it would transfer to his physical form in Arus. Instead, he stared ahead of him and tried unsuccessfully to _stop crying, dammit_. Eventually, though, he heard something move in the other room—his bedroom. 

He rubbed his hand over his cheeks and watched the door to his bedroom open. Allura stepped out, her hair frizzy and matted on one side. She was wearing a loose, floral-printed silk robe, and held the ribbon of it tight as she looked towards the door, the living room, and then wandered into the kitchen. She looked into the cabinet with the pots and pans, and Keith realized she was looking for the source of the sound—of the tongs being set on the hearth.

Keith stared at her with his breath condensing in his chest. She straightened up again, appearing on the other side of the island counter, and squinted her eyes across the cabin. She got a glass of water and drank it, leaning a hip on the counter and peering out the window in the kitchen. Her profile was white around the edges, where the moonlight fell over it. 

“I know you’re there,” she said aloud. “I don’t know where, but you’re here.”

Keith released the breath he was holding. “Allura,” he said, standing up from the hearth. She didn’t respond. She couldn’t hear him.

“I’m surprised,” she said after a moment, her voice hushed and somewhat raspy from sleep. “Even when you were homesick at Devereux, you never tried anything like this. And here I thought you were always one for being dramatic—and only _now_ you thought to project yourself back here. You never cease to surprise me.” 

She took a long drink from her glass as Keith walked up to her and leant against the counter. She moved to wash the glass out before setting it on a towel to dry. “I really shouldn’t be surprised anymore,” she murmured, her back to Keith as she sighed, both hands clasped against the edge of the counter. “Sleep is a good idea for you. You work best on no less than eight hours. Anything less than that and I swear it’s a recipe for disaster.”

Keith laughed weakly, mostly because there was now a lump in his throat that restricted his desire to be happy to see Allura again. She looked so real, too. _She is real_.

“Goodnight, Keith,” she said.

After Allura walked into her bedroom and shut the door, Keith let his consciousness return to the physical world. He felt cold the instant the weight of his body held him back down on the ground. 

He waited several seconds before opening his eyes, and feeling an overwhelming sense of disappointment at seeing the canopy of trees overhead. The steady sound of his friends breathing returned to him, as well as the form of Lance beside him, knees pulled up to his chest. Keith sat up and looked at Lance, who stared back at him as if not a second passed since Keith closed his eyes.

“Are you going to try it now?” Keith asked him.

Lance shook his head, and let his knees fall to the side. “No, I just wanted to see you try it first, that’s all. How’d it go? Where’d you go?”

Keith scratched the back of his head and said, “To the building where the feast was held. At this time of night it’s kind of dead.”

“You went that far?” Lance grinned, amused. “Maybe when I go I could visit the fields behind my old house. I used to spend _hours_ out there…”

“Well, it _is_ easiest to go to places you’re familiar with,” Keith said. Lance blinked at Keith, as if not processing what he was saying. Keith could hardly function with the way his own brain was acting. “You should get some sleep,” he told Lance.

The lad didn’t even speak. He nodded slowly and then realized what was happening and nodded with more vigor. Their mats were side-by-side, and once he flopped down, Keith sat for a while longer staring in the direction of the Arusian village. He thought long and hard until he couldn’t seem to process anything more than a single thought that came to mind.

Keith got up and went to his backpack. He pulled out a sheet of folded black fabric and went to Lance’s bag. He stuffed it in before pushing Lance’s shoulder lightly. “I put something in your bag for later,” he said softly.

“Wha-? Okay,” Lance mumbled. Keith lowered himself onto his mat and within seconds of closing his eyes, fell completely asleep.

  


  


When Keith was younger and he was near the height of his magick potential, there was a contract sorcerers signed going into secondary school. It highlighted that students in select schools were required to pledge their services to the nation when sought. The same went for boys of age—sixteen and older. Sorcerers tended to be enlisted at younger ages, if required, because secondary school started at the age of fifteen. He would attend secondary school for three years, which would bring him to the age of eighteen—

But just before Keith’s third year of secondary school, their required practice safety drills in class turned to _actual_ drills. Drills such as earthquake alerts, mostly, or storm warnings. Keith suspected it started near the middle of his first year, but the winters were often bad up north so Keith thought nothing of it. The city wasn’t used to the same amount of snow Keith had up north, though. 

In the first year of secondary school, their classes were canceled for an entire week due to mountains of snow blocking the dorms. The force of the storms were so violent, the stain glass windows in the main foyer of their university shattered one night. Keith came to the building in the morning—nose red from the cold—and skirted around the tape the custodians arranged around the bits of shattered glass on the tiles. His eyes rose skywards, towards where a fleck of snow melted halfway to the ground. No wonder there was a chill in the building that day.

The winter went on longer than usual that year, but that was fine. They could deal with the cold. The summer going into the second year was spent mostly in the city with Shiro. They were sixteen, and Shiro lived above that same restaurant and worked daily there. Keith still lived with Allura, but would take week-long trips to the city to help Shiro out. 

While there, more often than not, Keith experienced the continual storms that seemed… less than normal. Many of Shiro’s letters to Keith and Allura were enclosed in waterproof packets, and when Keith visited, he warned, _Bring goulashes_. _And an umbrella_.

The streets flooded constantly—the sewer systems weren’t meant for this kind of weather. It became a problem when the sewage itself began to rise from the depths beneath the streets. Keith visited during this time, and recalled the _awful_ smell. He was grateful Shiro lived above a restaurant—the smell of food overshadowed the shit, but the shit did little to improve his appetite.

Keith sat at Shiro’s window, the one that overlooked the streets below, and the raised sidewalks where people tended to congregate now. It was summer, and yet the rain made Keith feel like it was winter. 

“Milk with your tea?” Shiro asked from the kitchen.

“Yes please.”

“So polite—since when were you polite?” he joked, grinning as Keith shot him a dry glare. “Kidding, kidding. Here—I hope it’s warm enough.” Shiro approached Keith’s armchair and held out the mug. Keith took it in both of his hands, his knees pulled up so he could rest the mug in the crook of his stomach and legs, and let the steam warm them both. 

Shiro perched himself on the windowsill cushion in front of Keith and put his mug to his lips. He sipped a little, and Keith watched the constantly moving pattern of raindrops cast flickering shadows over Shiro’s face. “Do you think Mother Nature hates us?” Keith asked.

“No.”

“We are essentially nothing more than parasites,” he rationalized, and Shiro hid his disapproval behind his mug, and dipped in the tea he drank. Keith rolled his eyes. “Come on, you can’t be serious. We _are_ the definition of a parasite.”

“Even if we are, Mother Nature gave us life. She gave animals life—plants life. And even if we _are_ parasites, she made us because she loves us, not because she hates us. She didn’t make us just to kill us,” Shiro argued, and Keith opened his mouth to argue that point, but Shiro interjected: “That was inaccurate. Everyone eventually dies, but _the point is_ : she didn’t purposefully infect herself by allowing mankind to survive. Why do you ask, anyways?”

Keith tapped his finger against his mug. This was the third time he visited Shiro that summer, and it wouldn’t be the last, and every time nothing seemed any better with the city. “I was just thinking about Altea—and I know, I know, weird subject but you can’t blame me when I live with an Altean mother.”

They stared out the window for a while before Shiro finally said, “And she’s worried about the weather, is that it?”

“You can’t blame her,” Keith murmured, and inhaled the scent of chai spices in his mug. “It isn’t the most farfetched thing to assume.”

“I would say it is. There is no way… the city is too far inland to be sucked into the sea like that,” Shiro insisted, and Keith remained silent. It was the sort of silence that declared that Keith argued otherwise. 

Eventually he voiced it: “There are other ways to destroy places like this. And the third Altean territory was rather far from the shore to begin with.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Shiro said abruptly, and looked pointedly at Keith, requesting that he drop the conversation. And of course Keith didn’t drop the topic.

“You have to admit that it’s realistic—”

“It _isn’t_ , Keith. Besides, that will just cause unneeded panic. We’re just… experiencing more rain than usual. It happens, Keith. It happens. Now _lay off_.”

Keith scowled at the window, the pressure pushing against his mind and forcing his glare to increase until he felt a hand rub against his knee. Shiro circled his thumb around, soothing his muscles. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, and his soft voice drew Keith’s eyes away from the glass.

He placed his hand over Shiro’s and squeezed it. “It’s fine.”

  


  


The following day, they saw the peninsula on which the village sat. The land curved over to it and the ripple of the landscape created sharp cliffs close to the shoreline. They moved inland to avoid the cliffs, and it took longer this way to arrive. By beach it would have taken until noon, but with the cliffs, they arrived at dusk.

The entire way there, it seemed the only sound Keith could hear was the constant hum of the ocean in the distance. Everyone was rather quiet, and perhaps it had to do with the fact that exhaustion was more than a little potent. Keith couldn’t wait until he could drop his backpack and rest for seven days and nights. Rover was perhaps the most energetic out of all of them, and she wouldn’t shut up. 

At some point—Keith couldn’t remember when, exactly—Rover started making this medium-pitched noise in the back of her throat that sounded like nails clicking quickly against granite. Pidge assured them it wasn’t a problem: “She’s just excited, is all.”

The trees layered through the village and faded, transporting them among buildings and bare dirt roads. The buildings themselves were made entirely from stone, and the pale texture of them blended with the evening fog rolling in from the sea. The peninsula jutted out to the deep waters, where the fog accumulated in the morning and night. 

It took Keith a minute or so of walking over the dirt road to realize that the world was awfully quiet. As if there weren’t any people here at all.

“Do you hear anything?” he whispered to the others. They had subconsciously condensed into a close-knit pack, looking through the windows from afar, and peering around corners.

“This is the village, isn’t it? Why isn’t anyone here? Where’d they all go?” Hunk said, voice squeaking as he clung to both Shiro and Lance’s arms. Hunk’s panic sent Rover skittering around his shoulders. 

They reached the end of the main road, which deposited them on the other side of the village at a raised surface overlooking the water. Here they escaped the fog, and were simply surrounded by sheer white clouds enveloping the cliff, the water, the trees. He glanced out at the ocean, and the black birds fluttering over the rolls of clouds drifting over the waves. Pidge held her arms out wide, halting them a few paces away from what appeared to be a fire pit. 

“This is definitely the right village—and that’s where the ritual was done,” she said, pointing it out as she looked back at Keith. “Do you think—?”

Keith inhaled shakily through his nose and looked back at the tops of the houses, with their patchwork of shingles and damp, grassy parts. He didn’t realize it until he tried to move away from their group: his hand was around Shiro’s in a vice grip. So he pulled Shiro along with him into the ritual center. 

It was surrounded by halved slices of trunks—for benches, circling around the fire pit. The grass around here was minimal and carved down to dirt and stone. Keith brushed away some of the dirt with his boot, and underneath, where the stone sat, he saw faint, worn-away lines engraved into the surface with chiseling tools.

He glared at them in concentration, brushing away more dirt to reveal an entire symbol. “What is this?” he asked aloud. 

Pidge walked over, and by default Lance and Hunk followed her. The air was cooler, thinner, this high up. “Druid figures,” she said, looking at Shiro before saying, “The people themselves aren’t druids, but their ancestors were. This village has been here for centuries—millenniums, even.”

Keith’s scowl increased, staring down at the symbol of three short lines capped with diamond-like dots. “I… don’t even know all that much about druids. We only talked about them for… no more than a week in history class at most.” _And it wasn’t like I paid attention in history anyways_.

Pidge crouched down over the symbol and slipped off her backpack. She pulled out a brush meant for excavating and started revealing more of the symbols around it as they circled around the fire pit center. Keith followed her as she pointed out every three-lined mark. “It’s called _awen_ , and they told us that the druids believed that life was essentially determined by the ebb and flow of one’s spirit. If the movement of the spirit was stopped, or blocked, then life no longer existed. In other words, people died when their spirit stopped moving.”

“Spiritual exhaustion,” Shiro reiterated, drawing Keith’s attention up to him. “Back then, they claimed the history of their village showed minimal illnesses. Many people died of spiritual exhaustion—otherwise known as old age.”

“That’s incredible,” Lance said. “But you said _back then_. What happened?”

Pidge and Shiro both shrugged, and as she leant back on her heels, she looked up at them and said, “They never knew. It’s really all a legend—some of them say they became cursed by the gods to experience death by the hands of Mother Nature. Illness, disease, accident…”

Keith stepped away from them, letting his hand fall through the gaps of Shiro’s fingers. He walked around the fire pit, it’s circular center, and the stone it sat on. He peered into the fire pit, and the bricks that surrounded it. It all looked awfully familiar…

“A source well,” he breathed, looking up sharply at the others. “This is a source well. But where’s the water?” 

Pidge jumped to her feet quickly, coming to stand over by Keith as he tossed away charred coals from the fire pit. He chucked charcoal branches and logs and came to white ash. Pidge helped him clear it away, but they merely came to a bowl-shaped divot in the stone of the source well.

Keith sat back on his knees and stared at it, baffled. 

“How do you know it’s a source well?” Shiro asked, brows furrowing.

“I… I don’t know,” he confessed. “It’s laid out the same way—the carvings, the circular layout. Except instead of water they have a… _fire pit_? I don’t get it.”

“Maybe it’s just… a fire pit?” Hunk suggested.

“But I feel it too,” Lance said, hands gripping the hem of Hunk’s shirt. Keith looked up to him, as Lance swallowed harshly before adding, “I didn’t think it was anything—it’s really faint.”

 _He’s always been sensitive around source wells_ , Keith reminded himself, and got up to wave Lance closer. His apprentice approached the pit, and Keith rifled through his pockets for the usual supplies for starting the source well fire. 

“Spread the powder. We’re going to see if we can fill up here,” he explained to Lance, who then took the jar. Keith sprinkled the salt in after Lance, and after a moment raised his hands across from his apprentice. They mimicked each other, and just before the count down to lighting the fire, Keith’s breath hitched.

 _Someone is here_.

Startled by Keith’s reaction, Lance dropped his hands and looked at the voice that spoke up, farther down the hill. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

Her voice grated on Keith’s ears, and prickled him in all the wrong ways. It was the sort of voice he caught people like Rollo having—the roughness from smoking one too many cigars. Keith looked sharply over to the woman, and heard Pidge’s excited squeak from not far away. 

His attention caught on the wisp of white hair falling over the woman’s shoulders as she climbed the hill, assisted by a gnarled cane. Her limbs seemed less than young, but her face was youthful enough to convince anyone that she was just in her twenties. Being an apothecary, Keith knew better than to assume that. 

The woman barely spared a smile at them. Her eyes seemed weighed down by black makeup on the underside of her eyes, drawing lines down her cheeks and pulling at her nonexistent smile lines. 

To Keith’s surprise, Shiro stepped forward to the woman’s other side, saying, “Haggar, it’s nice to see you again. How are you?”

Her eyes were trained on the fire pit as she approached. Keith’s entire spine shuddered, and the effect rolled down to the bottom of his feet and the tips of his toes. Her hair was white. She looked an elderly form of Allura, and it unnerved him immensely. Her hair was frail and straw-like, and when the wind pushed at it, it seemed to web over her heavy cloak.

Out of the corner of her mouth, she muttered, “You should not have brought sorcerers here, Shirogane.”


	25. { the end }

Keith felt his heart leap to his throat at every movement the woman made. _Haggar_ was her name, and she dragged Shiro down to her eye level with a hand clasping the sides of his jaw. Her narrow white eyes were no more than a few inches from Shiro’s, and Keith resisted the urge to yank her away by the hair. 

Shiro didn’t seem all that surprised by her behavior, and asked, “How have you been since we left?”

She huffed and said, “Fine.”

Pidge stepped away from Keith to approach Haggar. “Where is everyone?” she asked. 

The woman raised a long, narrow finger to silence Pidge. Her eyes were trained on Shiro’s until she finally pushed him away, leaving red prints on his cheeks. “What did you do?” she demanded as Shiro rubbed his hand over his jaw and stepped back from Haggar.

The white-haired woman turned sharply to Keith and Lance, and her hunches raised as she spat at them, “ _What did you do to him_?” 

“I won’t apologize for reversing the effects of the hex,” Keith said neutrally, studying her now beady, pulsing eyes as she seethed at him. “Where are your people?”

“Don’t speak” she hissed, her fingers clawing at her sides. “You’ve _destroyed_ them! You’ve destroyed my galra—!”

Keith sensed the ticking in her muscles, and the second she raised her hand on him, he deflected what he could of her attack. He stared at her in shock, realizing that her magick wasn’t like anything he had experienced outside of Arus. It was spindly and deceptively delicate, and seemed to mimic her overall appearance: lean, gaunt limbs and straw-like hair. 

She screamed obscenities at him as Pidge weakly tried to hold her back: “Listen, please! The galra were hurting my friends, we were only trying to protect—”

A sharp squeak escaped her throat, and Keith’s chest constricted at the sight of Pidge’s neck turning red where Haggar held her still. The woman never appeared to lay a hand on her. “You threaten my galra, and they fight back—that is the case for all creatures,” Haggar hissed at her.

Keith grappled for the threads Haggar held around Pidge’s throat, but they were all so faint and yet Pidge was _struggling to breathe—_ Keith found a sliver of them and ripped his hand up, cutting through Haggar’s attack only to have her throw a massive force at Pidge that sent her sprawling back, coughing with her hands over her throat.

“Pidge!” Shiro screamed, running the second Pidge’s feet left the ground. 

“You shouldn’t have brought sorcerers here,” Haggar hissed as she flung her hands up and Pidge’s feet slipped out from under her—the cliff’s edge catching her heel.

Keith lunged for Pidge, screaming incoherently as he attempted to grab her. In the midst of reaching for her, something knocked into his stomach and sent him falling to his knees, coughing. The force came again—this time stronger—and all he could hear was everyone _screaming_ …

His entire body seized up, his muscles tightening, his eyes burning under the strain. He arched his back off the ground, feeling the rock push into his shoulders. The sky was blindingly white—the world was white. He could _feel_ hands crawling all around him in his skin and between the bones of his ribcage. His hands wrestled to _get them away_ and he could _see_ Haggar’s shadow over him—one of the three things dark in this world: himself, Haggar, and Lance standing not too far away.

Keith opened his mouth to scream for Lance, but the second he looked towards his apprentice, reaching for him, he paused at the sight of a familiar face standing alongside him. The face of a galra, his arms entirely around Lance’s shoulders with their ghostly translucency. Keith _knew_ Lance didn’t know. Lance couldn’t feel the galra completely surrounding him. 

Haggar saw it as well, and a thrilling grin spread across her lips. The hands emerging from the rocks forced Keith’s back to lay flat on the ground, completely and entirely still no matter how he squirmed. He tried to scream for Haggar to _stop!_ and _don’t go near him!_

Lance was breathing hard, staring at Haggar as she stepped over to him. He flinched away from her when she reached out—to touch the hand of the galra over Lance’s heart. “Perfect,” she mused aloud. 

She plucked the hands of the galra away from Lance. Only then did he seem to notice, and see the galra clearly. Lance screamed, squirming, and looking as if he was on the verge of vomiting. Instead, Haggar grabbed him by the arm, heaved him forward, and slammed her palm against his forehead. Not a second later, Lance collapsed, unconscious. 

“I have a new source for you,” Haggar said to the galra. Keith stared desperately at Lance, his hand still stretched out towards him. The galra’s feet approached Keith’s open palm, accompanied by the shadow Haggar dropped over him. Keith felt his eyes watering as he looked up into the galra’s face. He couldn’t stand the sensation of cold, slimy fingers turning his insides to mush.

  


  


“ _Run!_ We need to go _now_!” Shiro’s voice barely made it through Lance’s conscious. He could hear someone sobbing, and _oof_ —someone’s shoulder jammed into his stomach. 

“But Pidge—”

“ _Hunk!_ ” Shiro screamed, and a second later Lance felt the breeze in his hair as they were running—specifically, Shiro and Hunk were running.

Lance moaned and felt all the blood in his torso rushing to his head. He forced his head up, even if it weighed about as much as a bag full of bricks, and looked to where the woman’s white hair drifted in the breeze, around her shoulders, and over a body laying on the ground—getting up from the ground— _Keith_.

“Keith—” he started, reaching towards his mentor just as Shiro skidded around the edge of a boulder.

“What’s going on?!” Hunk cried. “What about Keith!”

Shiro didn’t answer, and Lance pressed his palms to Shiro’s back and tried to push him away. His weak struggles went unnoticed, especially with the bumpy trip down the switchback trails leading down the cliff. Slowly but surely, Lance’s voice came back to him.

“We… have to go back,” he huffed. “We can’t leave him—!” He pushed up against Shiro’s lower back, legs kicking, until eventually Shiro couldn’t walk and forcefully dropped Lance onto the ground. His head hit the wall of dirt behind him, and he winced—the blood that pooled in his skull made him dizzy and off balance.

“We have to leave Keith. I’m sorry, Lance,” Shiro said, and forced Lance to look at him, putting both of his hands on Lance’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way we can get Keith back without Haggar’s help. She seriously isn’t on our side right now and at the moment, neither is Keith.”

“What happened—” Lance started, and faltered at the sensation of his entire body vibrating. The entire _world_ was vibrating. 

The earth shook around them and sent Shiro into a panic. He shouted for Hunk to keep moving—and hang on tight to Rover; _don’t let her go!_ Shiro yanked Lance up to his feet as crumbles of ash rained down. Except it wasn’t ash. It was specks of dirt that seemed to get bigger, and bigger, until entire rocks were falling from the edges of the switchback trails.

Lance scrambled to keep up, letting Shiro push him ahead as they navigated their way wildly down the cliff. It was so hard to stay upright when the dirt was shifting—the rocks were shifting—the trail Lance was on started to slide away from the cliff—

“ _Jump!_ ” Shiro screamed, grabbing Lance by the torso and rocketing them to where Hunk huddled at the turn of the switchback. Shiro pushed them towards the wall corner, and shut his eyes. Lance stared in horror as the entire side of the cliff went sliding away. The boulder from the top crashed no more than a few feet away from them, and shoved tons and tons of rock and soil into the sea.

Lance’s entire body was shaking. _What was going on?!_ He could hardly focus on anything except their escape trail turning to a pulp at the bottom of the sea. When he finally was able to look up, it was to the cliff face where two figures stood looking down at them. Haggar’s hair was tugged towards the sea, creating a curtain of white behind where Keith stood.

Keith raised his hands towards the sky. 

“Lance,” Shiro said, drawing his attention back to eye level. “Lance, I need you to get us to the shore.”

“You need _what_?” he gawked.

“Honestly I don’t care how you do it—just get us there without dying,” he said. Lance panicked at the sight of water glistening in Shiro’s eyes, and any strength he thought he had turned to absolute shit. 

At that moment, the most ear-piercing wail escaped Rover, and a second later Lance felt his lungs constrict, and the sensation of static ran all the way through his limbs. He lurched forward, and would have dove straight off the edge of their small cliff had Hunk not had the tightest hold on his hand. 

Rover was still screaming, spitting, and hissing flecks of burning ash out of her mouth. Her talons were deep in Hunk’s shoulder as he heaved Lance back, but his body started to feel so light—Lance felt his feet lifting from the ground.

He screamed and clawed for both Hunk and Shiro. A sob escaped him as his feet left the ground entirely, and Shiro grabbed hold of his arm, and then his shoulder, keeping him as close to land as possible. “What’s happening! What’s happening! Hunk—Hunk don’t let go!” Lance shouted, tears running down his cheeks.

Hunk looked horrified, watching Lance float away. “It’s Keith—It’s Keith. You have to fight it—I won’t let him hurt you,” Hunk begged over the racket of Rover shrieking in all of their ears. 

_Fight it—fight it_ —Lance kicked his legs and looked desperately for a way out of it. The hold on his limbs was tightening, and it made his limbs feel like they were losing blood, tingling, and losing function. The first thing he could think of was—

 _Push Keith off balance_.

Lance shut his eyes and screamed gibberish in all variations of pronunciation. He wasn’t sure which one would work until suddenly the force on his limbs fell away, and sent him collapsing over the edge of the cliff. They all screamed; Hunk and Shiro planted their feet and heaved Lance up. 

Lance continued to shout any and all spells he could think off. _Get us down there, get us to the beach, get us to the water_ —

“My backpack!” he screamed, turning his back to Hunk. “Take out the black thing!”

Hunk unzipped the backpack and yanked out the piece of fabric. Shiro gawked at it. “You took Keith’s teleportation cloak?!” he shouted. “You’re a goddamn genius!”

Lance clasped the cloak around his neck as he said, “He gave it to me—c’mon, grab on.”

Hunk clung to Lance’s arm, and Shiro held on to his shoulder. He let out a shaky breath and gripped the corner of the cloak. “Let’s see if this works,” he breathed, and yanked it around them quick and fast, and in a veil of black the teleportation cloak pitched them towards the sea in a jet of dark smoke.

They hit the ground _hard_ , and Lance’s backpack stopped him just before the water. The air was knocked out of his lungs, and he coughed, ripping the cloak away from his throat and forcing himself to his feet. Hunk groaned beside him, and after a moment Lance realized that Shiro was awfully quiet. 

He looked around, only to freeze in his place—as if suddenly approached by a wild bear. Someone stood not far from the shore, amidst the murky haze of the fog caught in the orange rays of the setting sun. The evening was fading fast, and Lance looked quickly to Hunk, and then around him again. He nearly threw up at the sight of Shiro standing not far away from where he fell. Like a statue.

Slowly, Lance rose to his feet, studying both Shiro and the figure approaching them through the water. He could recognize that mullet anywhere. 

Shiro’s eyes were on Keith, unfocused, body straight. 

“I could kill him.” The whisper came from Keith, and Lance’s heart twisted in his chest. The words came out so dull and uninterested, but the thought of Keith—the _real_ Keith—being in there somewhere made Lance want to cry. He couldn’t let Keith kill Shiro—it would destroy him.

Lance stomped forward and ripped his arms up, fists in the air as a column of water shot at Keith. He disappeared into a torrent of waves, but once the water settled, he was nowhere to be seen. Lance’s chest was heaving, staring at the spot where Keith used to stand, and heard Shiro fall from behind, hitting the sand unconscious.

Lance didn’t dare lower his arms. He was tense, waiting for Keith to reappear— _where the hell_ was _he_? He spared a second to look back at Hunk, who was partially sitting on the sand with Rover huddled in his arms. The water swayed around Lance’s feet, and splashed up to his thighs. Hunk’s eyes were red from crying, and Lance was certain his weren’t any better.

“Get Shiro,” Lance whispered. “Go find Pidge.”

“But she fell—”

“ _She could still be alive_ ,” Lance hissed back. Hunk sniffed, holding his chin up before nodding sternly. He got up from the ground, and went to where Lance abandoned the teleportation cloak. He tossed it over the water to Lance, who looked at it once before wrapping it around his neck again. 

Hunk and Shiro were barely into the fog down the shoreline before a heavy spray of water jumped up beside Lance. He scrambled away, and threw his arms to the side, sending a wave of water where Keith’s hand shot through the liquid wall and grabbed for Lance. 

Keith’s fingers clutched to Lance’s throat and yanked him forward. Lance came face-to-face with Keith’s burning yellow eyes, and the smell of seared flesh rising in his nostrils. He opened his mouth and screamed, panting as Keith moved his hand up, squeezing just underneath Lance’s jaw.

“This power could have been _yours_ ,” Keith’s voice snarled at him. “You could have been the world’s greatest weapon!”

“F-Fuck you!” Lance stammered out, nails scraping against the white marks on Keith’s arms. 

Lance kicked his leg out at Keith and the current tugged at his knees. He dropped Lance to get his footing, and before Lance could even consider throwing a punch, he hesitated at the sound of Keith’s laughter rising. “You may have power, Lance,” Keith said, his smile growing sinister, “but you are nothing compared to the legendary Keith Kogane.”

Keith’s arms tensed at his sides, and he rose them up. Lance staggered under the force of the world shaking, the water sucking back into the ocean. Lance scrambled back from Keith, staring at the sea shells being revealed, the rocks, the boulders—the dark black sand collecting suffocating fish. He looked to where Hunk was running across his peripheral vision towards the body being revealed at the bottom of the ocean.

The mist around them rolled back into the sea, and in a flash the entire beach became visible. Lance could see Hunk and Shiro at the bottom of the cliff, pausing at the sight of the fog disappearing into the receding waves.

“ _And you thought he was made of fire!_ ” Keith roared, clawed fingers clenching into fists. “ _I am a force of nature!_ ” He threw his fists down, and the deafening roar of the sea returning to them sent Lance’s eyes wide in horror. 

Keith didn’t just bring a tidal wave or a simple tsunami—he brought a wall of water, and it was heading straight for Lance. Lance’s voice went hoarse the second he lunged for Keith, mere feet from the wall of water. It wasn’t what Keith was expecting, and the force of Lance running into him sent them both sprawling into the wall that felt like a block of concrete slamming into them. 

It was all Lance could think of. He couldn’t fight something like that, and he knew Keith—the galra—wouldn’t sacrifice himself into the water. It meant Keith had a plan, it meant that Keith couldn’t go anywhere without taking Lance with him.

The current threatened to split Lance’s fingers apart, but he clung to Keith’s torso for the life of him. Keith’s feet dug into the black sand that whirled around them, and a pocket of air began to circle around them. The crash of the waves against the shore behind them was muffled, and as the water washed around them, and dispersed back across the shoreline, Keith yanked at Lance’s hands.

“Release me!” Keith shouted.

“Never! I’m not letting to!” Lance insisted, and went so far as to wrap his legs around Keith’s, and lock his feet together. “You can’t make me!” 

The water rushed around them, and doused Lance’s entire body. Sputtering water, Lance felt his fingers turning to ice. When Keith plucked at them, they released instantly, and burned like all hell. Keith shoved him into the water, and slammed his hand against Lance’s throat. He held Lance’s head under, aware that Lance couldn’t even use his hands to fight back, not when they were burning like they were.

Lance’s legs floundered up and he pushed them against Keith’s stomach until he was able to raise his arms up and grab blindly for Keith’s face. With his last ounce of breath, he blew out, and the tide receded enough for him to gulp for air and lunge for Keith’s hair.

He grabbed a fistful of it and yanked Keith down. He slammed his fist against Keith’s head, and then again and this time shouted, “ _Nevmado_!”

Keith growled at him and grabbed for his wrist. _Dammit! It didn’t work_ —Lance cried inside, eyes wide as Keith twisted his arm painfully. Once more—once more—

Lance squeezed his eyes shut and screamed, “ _NEVMADO!_ ” and slammed his fist at Keith’s head. His knuckles cracked against Keith’s nose and a fountain of blood rose from it. Keith slumped, trying to stay upright, but at last collapsed into the water.

His marks were glowing white by that point, and Lance was almost too surprised to concentrate on the fact that the glow was rising, fading at his fingertips and accumulating at the marks over his spine. Lance heaved Keith out of the water, just in time to see the white glow fizzing out of his skin and dwindling up to the sky. It was sleepier than the first time Lance ever saw Keith’s spirit float away from his body.

When Keith performed the astral projection, Lance had watched that same sliver of white shoot up into the sky, and linger there until Keith returned to his body. Now, it swayed drunkenly, weighed down by a spark of yellow glowing at the base. That was _definitely_ new.

Gingerly, Lance grasped Keith’s spirit with two fingers and shakily reached for the pulsing yellow light attached to it. He didn’t want to touch it—but he had to. Lance closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, shakily, and opened his eyes to grip the galran parasite. 

Lance recognized the impression the galra left on him, and he nearly dropped Keith’s spirit in the process. He just needed to—It was just _one thing_ —but he could barely stand to touch the _damn thing_. 

_This is nothing compared to what Keith is going through now_ , Lance reminded himself, because he was once in the same position. He pinched the parasitic speck and yanked on it. 

The sliver of white was pliant and rubbery, and bent under the force, but didn’t break. Lance yanked on it harder, muttering, “Come _on_ , break already!” The white was now completely drained from Keith’s body, and entirely dependent on the two fingers Lance clasped it with. Keith was completely disconnected from the physical world.

Lance _yanked_ at the parasite, and stretched the damn thing ruthlessly before dropping his arms with a sigh. The world was so incredibly dark now that the moons were new, and the only source of light was from Keith’s spirit slumped in Lance’s hands.

 _They don’t exactly have a step-by-step guide to this_ , Lance muttered to himself. 

He let go of the parasite and let his backpack slip off one shoulder. It dropped into the black sand and he rifled around in it before coming across a pocketknife he kept with him. He picked up the parasite again and pinched it carefully, the blade of his knife slipping through Keith’s spirit where it connected to the yellow base. 

“I’m not exactly an exorcist… but this is the best I can do,” Lance said. The bit he cut off dampened, and the light faded, and it disappeared into the atmosphere. 

He pressed the new base of Keith’s soul against Keith’s spine. He murmured, “ _Epi-nevma_.” 

It took several minutes, and several re-pronunciations, before Keith’s spirit began to leak into the marks again. He soothed the last bit of the spirit back into Keith’s skin and slumped over his body with a relieved sigh. He clasped his hands together, his forehead against Keith’s shoulder blades, and begged, _Please work, please work, please work_.

The teleportation cloak was soaked, and it weighed over Lance’s shoulders as he waited, and waited, and waited until the sound of people approaching reached his ears. Their footsteps crunched against the damp sand, and without any significant light, their shadows were nonexistent.

“Keith—” Shiro’s hoarse voice started, his footsteps hurrying as Lance sat up and sniffed. He felt so cold—not only Lance, but Keith as well. 

Shiro dropped down across from Lance and rolled Keith back, hoisting him up so Keith’s head tipped towards Shiro’s chest, chin lolling against his own shoulder. Shiro pressed his fingers to Keith’s neck, something Lance hadn’t even thought to check. And yet he was the apprentice to an apothecary. 

He held his breath until Shiro sighed in relief. “He’s alive,” Shiro said, slumping back into the sand. “Did you…?”

“The galra is gone,” Lance said, and instantly looked up to Hunk, who looked worse-off than usual. Lance jumped up at the sight of Pidge in his arms, lips blue and glasses gone. Hunk cleared his throat, and adjusted his hold on Pidge. It took a moment for Lance to realize that Rover was laying on Pidge’s stomach, colorless and panting rapidly. 

Lance looked to Shiro, who had his head pressed against Keith’s hair, his face turned away from them. He then looked to Pidge, and stepped closer. He hesitated to press his fingers against Pidge’s throat. When he did, he felt how cool and clammy her flesh was, and how the pads of his fingers seemed to stick to them as he pulled them back, chest constricting and eyes burning.

He wanted to double check. _He wanted to_. But he knew from Hunk’s expression that there was no point checking for the pulse of a dead person.

“Well…” 

Lance thought he heard Shiro say something, but the voice was raspy, and when he turned to Shiro, he saw Keith’s hand flop to the side. “Well,” he said again.

Shiro rose his head up to look at Lance and Hunk, his cheeks stained with tears. “There isn’t a source well, Keith,” he said.

Keith’s hand was partially raised, but dropped after hearing Shiro. His eyes were open, but seemed unresponsive when Shiro turned up Keith’s chin to look at him.

The tide was rising, and it skimmed against Lance’s feet. Everything was quiet then until he released a broken cry. He felt it rip into his chest and gouge out his heart. He let himself slump to Hunk’s feet and cough into the crook of his elbow. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry, Keith.”

He heard Keith draw in a rattly breath before saying, “Fer’what?”

Lance rubbed his hands over his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at where Keith had his head tilted to the side, uneven eyes settled on him. Hunk dropped to the ground, Pidge laid across his lap. 

“I knew the galra was still with me—but I didn’t think he’d-he’d be able t-to get to anyone,” he cried, pushing his hands to his eye sockets. “A-And I never did anything to stop P-Pidge from falling—! You even tried to save her and I just _stood there—_ ”

“Lance—” Keith said, arm flopping towards him. “Lance, it’s okay—”

“No! No it isn’t!” he screamed. “Don’t you get it? _Pidge is dead!_ She’s dead a-and—”

“Shut—the fuck up for a second,” Keith said, voice nothing more than a whisper. “Nyma isn’t here… but I am. Now—get the fuck over here, and give—give me your magick.”

“Keith…” Shiro whined. “You shouldn’t—it isn’t right—”

“Like I give… a fuck what you think,” Keith huffed. He reached for Lance, and Lance stared at Keith in shock before looking over at Hunk, and the pale lizard-looking drake curled up on a corpse’s stomach. 

Lance blindly searched for Keith’s hand until he grasped it, staring at Pidge’s lifeless body. He sniffed, and nodded. “You can bring her back, right? You can do it?”

“We’re gonna try,” Keith said, and let Lance hook his arm underneath Keith’s. Shiro helped him bring Keith over to Hunk and Pidge. “As if I’m gonna let Pidge leave before she has the chance to bring back a sibling for Rover,” he huffed, and Shiro laughed, rubbing a hand over his damp cheeks.

Hunk laid Pidge down in the sand. He took Rover and, accompanied by Shiro, stepped back from Keith, Lance, and Pidge. 

Keith counted down, and they repeated the spell that would link their bubbles together. Lance felt the ocean sway around him, and the tide draw closer, colliding with the force of Keith’s heated sphere. It was inherently dry, but was nothing compared to the syrup that suffocated Lance last time. Lance found himself looking in deeper to Keith’s depleted source, trying to find the mark of a sorcerer capable of being the force of nature he claimed to be.

He turned to stare at Keith, who leant against him for support until transitioning to clasp Lance’s hand and rise to his feet. The breeze caught on his hair, and his entire body rose as if to remind the world that even weak, Keith was still the strongest force alive. 

“Ready?” Keith asked, looking back at Lance.

Lance’s fingers tightened around Keith’s, and his entire body became bathed in the warmth of Keith’s magick source swirling. Keith pulled Lance to the ground, his hands sinking into the sand, and the light of a hundred different specks of bluish energy began to rise and sink into Keith’s skin. The sight was familiar—it was Coran, and the magick from the source itself: Mother Nature.

Blue light churned around them, pulling from the soil, the water, the vegetation growing along the cliffs. It rippled across the entire beach, and funneled towards them, and doused them all in a blinding white light that was eerily similar to the world of the galra. Lance looked at Keith’s silhouette beside him, and Pidge’s body slumped in the sand. Hunk and Shiro had their arms over their eyes to block out the light.

Soon, the light faded, and returned to wisps of blue that pixelated, and scattered across the ground. Within that time, Lance witnessed something incredible: Keith’s magick filling, passed his usual source, and the reserve he kept at bay. The blue magick spilled over the edges, lapping into Lance’s bowl, and merging the warmth of a fire-prone sorcerer with the water elemental magick Lance was used to.

Keith dropped Lance’s hand and rose, fists clenching as the wind picked up around them, catching on Lance’s teleportation cloak. He saw a faint grin pull at the corner of Keith’s lips.

Keith laced his fingers together, cracking his knuckles as he said, “All right. Let’s raise the dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One extra chapter after this, and then the epilogue :) I also think I was supposed to split this into two parts but I accidentally combined them and I don't feel like changing it so you get the whole ending RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW TODAY.


	26. { the extra }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so extra, and also probably scientifically inaccurate. I'm just going off of what I remember from astronomy/geology class.

In the middle of their third year in secondary school, their classes were cancelled and tuition refunded. Earlier that year, an earthquake took down several of the taller buildings in the city, and left people petrified. _Earthquakes?_ It didn’t help that the mountains were nearby, and yet the city hadn’t experienced earthquakes for over three decades. 

They came back stronger than ever.

In the collateral damage in a building collapse, the restaurant Shiro lived above was damaged severely. Thankfully, it was after classes were canceled. Allura offered to let Shiro come live in the cabin with Keith—initially she was planning on taking a trip, the one she would eventually take as a way to encourage Keith’s growth as an independent sorcerer. Her trip was cut off nearly a week after Keith and Shiro returned to the sleepy town in the north.

Keith remembered coming into the house after taking a walk with Shiro around the forests. Allura was at the counter with a letter clutched in her fingers, and her face was so incredibly pale that her lips were practically blue. It intensified the red rimming her eyes when she looked up at Keith from across the cabin.

“What is it?” he said, pausing in the threshold. Shiro stood back on the porch. “What’s wrong?”

Allura breathed in shakily and set down her letter. She slid an unopened envelope over to Keith. “It’s… from the city,” she said. As Keith’s eyes trained on it, he stepped forward, and Allura’s eyes strayed briefly to Shiro before falling back to the paper in her hand.

“I didn’t think… they would actually summon us,” Allura confessed as Keith skimmed hastily over the calligraphy on his page. She inhaled tremulously, and said, “It’s happening again. It’s happening again and th-they expect _me_ , of _all people_ —!”

“Can you waive your summon?” Keith asked, eyes wide as he realized the problem. “They _must_ respect your history, shouldn’t they?” 

Allura shook her head, resting her fingers over her temple. “They need everyone, but I don’t see how it will do any good. They can summon all the sorcerers they want but it won’t change the fact that Mother Nature _will_ destroy the city and everything around it,” she said, waving her papers as if sweeping her hand over the ruins already. 

Keith dropped his hands to the counter and let Shiro pluck the paper from Keith’s fingers.

Shiro read over the letter briskly before throwing it down. “They can’t do this. They can’t take away _all_ sorcerers just to… fight the _gods_ —that’s absurd!”

“The city is the center of _everything_ ,” Keith argued. “Of course they will do anything to prevent what happened to Altea. You do realize that we lost over half of our knowledge when Altea sunk? It was _thee_ single most significant center of scholarship, and do you think it’s any coincidence that the city took that trait after Altea fell? Even if we can’t save the city, we have to preserve as much as we can from being taken away.”

Shiro pulled on his arm to face him as he hissed, “You _know_ what it’s like over there. How is it possible that the government believes a bunch of sorcerers are capable of stopping… _earthquakes_ from taking out the city? Sure, sorcerers might have been capable of it in the past—but _now?_ ”

“There are still some of us around that might be able to,” Keith countered, glaring down at the letter on the counter. He looked at Allura, who stared at him in shock. “When are we leaving?”

They left as soon as they were packed. Shiro helped bring things from Allura’s shelves, and they took a trip to the shop. As they left the shop door and locked it, Allura slapped the ring of keys into Shiro’s hands. “There’s a calendar in the shop, and a notebook recording who needs what by first and last name. Should anyone come down with a head cold while I’m gone, the feverfew and yarrow is in the back—everything is labeled. And _don’t_ diagnose the patients. I don’t care how many medical books you’ve read, just don’t do it.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Shiro said, clasping the keys to his chest. Allura yanked him in for a hug, and kissed him no less than five times on the cheeks, forehead, and nose. He came away with faint red marks from her lipstick. “Stay safe, and come home.”

Allura dropped her hand on his shoulder before backing away. She left around the corner, and gave Keith a nudge towards Shiro before disappearing. He tugged on the neck of his cloak and gave Shiro a weak shrug.

“This is it,” he said. “I… don’t know when we’ll be back but I mean—”

His words stopped under the force of Shiro’s lips colliding with his. Shiro’s fingers curved over Keith’s cheeks and ears and linked into his black hair. Keith held onto Shiro’s shirt when he pulled back, breathing hard. “Don’t die, please don’t die,” Shiro begged, shaking his head quickly. 

Keith reached his hands up and gripped his fingers around Shiro’s forearms. He closed his eyes and let in a sharp intake of air before gathering the nerve to say: “But if I don’t—”

“Keith, don’t say that—”

“ _If_ I don’t,” he continued, “You close the shop, don’t worry about the cabin. Just _go home_ and be with your mom, all right? It’ll be okay.”

Shiro’s eyes were glistening when Keith finally opened his own again. Shiro sucked in his bottom lip and shook his head, sobbing, “This is my home, though. This is my home, Keith.”

Keith felt numb until that moment. He was just functioning because he thought he had to—but how could he pretend like he was strong when not even Shiro could hold it together? His vision blurred with tears, and he pushed his face into Shiro’s chest and held on tight. “I can’t promise I’ll come back, but I’ll try.”

Shiro held Keith to him until they both began to feel hesitant about how long they kept Allura waiting. Keith held on to the sides of Shiro’s face and pecked him on the lips one last time before hurrying after where Allura disappeared. He rounded the corner, and faltered at the sight of her leaning against the wall not too far off. Hastily he rubbed his hands over his eyes and cheeks and kept his face down as he passed her. The back of his hand had a smudge of black makeup on it. 

“Let’s go,” he said.

She fell in step with him and settled her arm around his shoulders, her free hand hooked on the strap of her bag. She didn’t say anything, and he was grateful for that. Even if she did talk, Keith wasn’t sure if he’d be able to find the voice to say anything back. The ability to control his own breathing was hard enough at that moment.

At the time he entered secondary school, nothing seemed wrong with the world. It’d been decades since Altea’s collapse. It’d been even _longer_ since a war—no sorcerer felt the need to fear for their lives by entering university and signing the pledge to serve the nation. When Keith entered university, even Allura told him it would be fine to sign it—the countries were stable, the people were as peaceful as they could be. When she went to university, she signed the papers—she had only ever been summoned once, and it wasn’t for anything _life-threatening_.

 _I can’t die_ , Keith told himself throughout the entire journey to the city. _I can’t die. I can’t die. It’s impossible_.

  


  


The damage in the city would take years as it was, and as Allura and Keith arrived they found the people living there evacuated and being sent farther away towards the borders. People who recognized the danger started to leave the oceanside as well—they went north. Allura and Keith observed a multitude of citizens traveling by wagon and horseback through the field trails, and from a distance Keith scowled at the dark lines cutting through the greenery—the dense population of the country hurrying to escape Mother Nature’s wrath.

It rained for most of the trip there. On occasion they experienced a brief period of simply humid atmosphere, but other than that the hawks that traveled with them cut through sheets upon sheets of water pouring from the clouds. Every three trips by hawk, Allura became too burnt out to go any further. Keith would walk with her to the nearest village, find a source well, and wait for her to fill up before she insisted they take the hawks again.

“By the time we get there, you’ll be too exhausted to do anything,” Keith argued.

“I don’t care—we have to get _you_ there,” Allura insisted, pushing away from the stone ledge of the well and snatching her bag from him. She looped it over her shoulders and faced him squarely. “You and I both know that if there were even _five_ , not even _six_ sorcerers like you there, we stand a chance. And we have to make sure you get there before they all _die_ and there’s none of you left.”

“You make it sound like… sorcerers of my level are a species or something,” Keith laughed unhumorously, and turned his harsh eyes on her. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I still need you there. You’re no good to us _drained_. You’re a legend, Allura—”

“Yes, but specifically in the realm of _mental_ and _spiritual_ magick,” she drawled, swirling her hands around her head. She dropped them towards Keith, saying, “Certainly not physical, elemental magick, like yourself.”

Keith scoffed, looking away as he muttered, “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“That’s right: I’m giving it all to you. Now hang on or I’m leaving without you,” she warned, holding a hand out to him. He glared at it before grudgingly accepting the offer. 

When they arrived at the city, it was dead except for the sorcerers who were summoned. They crowded around the epicenter of the earthquakes, drenched with torrents of rain slanting at them with the effects of needles driving into their skin. On the main street, Keith stood in the face of a crack that tore up the bricks, and slithered down the entirity of the road. People straddled the lines with their fists plunged into the exposed dirt, all but stitching together the fault line that threatened to split.

Keith yanked back his drenched hair and tied it out of his face as Allura joined the force holding the ground together. He could hardly believe this. It was insane to think that a bunch of people were capable of stitching the road together, but there wasn’t much else he, or anyone else, could think of. So he crouched beside Allura and gripped his fingers into the dirt, and held on against the vibrations of the earth beneath them.

They rotated sorcerers, and when Allura and Keith were called away from the fault line, it was to replenish the magick they wasted. _Wasted_ was the correct word, because each hour the crack in the earth only seemed to expand an inch. There wasn’t much down the crack except a dark pit. Streams of rainwater would dribble off the sides, and when the water _really_ built up, it fell like waterfalls into the crack.

Keith stepped out of the source well atrium and put his hands on his hips, saying, “This is pointless. We can’t just wait here until the earthquakes pass. We need to _stop_ them.”

“Stop earthquakes?” Allura repeated. “And how do you suggest we do that, hm?”

Keith scowled at her just as one of the officers began rounding them up to help transportation of goods out of the city to the waiting wagons. If they weren’t wasting magick, they were wasting strength and energy to move books and ledgers out of the libraries, or art pieces and historical items from the museums. At one point Keith passed the temple he and Shiro went to, and found the corridors empty except for those colored tiles, now slick with moisture from the water streaming in from the broken skylights.

 _No one’s sacrificing their lives to pray to the gods when this is what they’re doing to us_ , Keith mused to himself.

He was just turning back to Allura when a subtle groan entered his ears. He wondered if it was possible to hear anything above the torrential downpour, but the expression on Allura’s face said it all. _This is it_ , her face said.

An alarming whistle sounded, and suddenly Keith was rammed into by the crowd of sorcerers sprinting towards the main street. Keith staggered and grabbed for Allura’s arm, following the crowd that divided, no longer controlled by the officers. _Leave or stay_? 

“Keith—” Allura started, tugging on his arm. He looked at her, and the white hair that was slick against her dark cheeks. “We can’t leave—you have to at least try, please,” she begged, pointing towards the main street, and the faces coming towards them in a panic, away from the fault line.

The earth moaned beneath them, and this time it was followed by rumble that passed underneath them in a wave. Keith staggered towards Allura, crying out and holding on as everyone crouched, maintaining what balance they could. A heavy shadow fell over them, and Allura screamed, shoving Keith ahead of her as they escaped the wreckage of a falling building. 

They were officially trapped on main street. 

_Don’t die_ , Keith told himself, and pulled Allura along with him. “Give me some of your magick! We can do this together!” he shouted over the commotion, but his voice was mostly lost. 

He grabbed Allura’s hand and forced it to his shoulder. He chanted the words until she registered what he was doing. She repeated them, and soon he gained access to all her magick, and opened up his reserve. 

Fault lines were tricky things to deal with. They couldn’t be mended, necessarily, but the exterior effects could be cleared away. The earth’s crust was receding into the center of the planet, and Keith couldn’t stop the natural way of things, but Mother Earth was the one to do this. Mother Nature was the one to spontaneously begin moving plates that hadn’t been moved in decades. The least he could do was at least sever them from the crust being consumed by the earth.

The instant they were released from the momentum of the receding plate, there was the matter of preventing more from curving deeper into the earth. He drew his hands slowly down the length of main street, towards the mountains, where he was able to unite the broken plates together. It was nothing short of absolute insanity, in his opinion. Most of the time he was able to visualize the effects, but everything beneath the surface as dark and gritty and was the reason why he didn’t like to tamper with earth magick. He much preferred the light.

As his hands went up along the crack down the road, the crack in the earth quivered underneath them. Keith remained grounded as his feet, straddled on either side of the crack, began to move closer to one another. The split sealed, and the quaking stopped.

There was the matter of the rain, and no matter how much it bothered him, he couldn’t even begin to deal with the weather. It would have to pass on its own.

The people who fled from main street began to return, finding Allura standing alongside her apprentice, her hand on Keith’s shoulder, and his arms raised in the air until the earth was healed. His hands dropped to his sides, and once stepping away from Allura, they both collapsed under the sudden deficiency in magick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all the shouting that was done last chapter XD Also, after the epilogue I pretty much have NOTHING for you guys there is literally nothing up my sleeve. I'm thinking it'd be smart to take a break from writing, but am I smart? It's debatable.
> 
> Tomorrow I have an exam (yikes) and to destress beforehand I'll edit and post the epilogue. What is this myth, of authors taking time out of their writing schedule to STUDY and DO HOMEWORK?? I know no such thing. Writing controls me, it isn't the other way around XD I do have 3 books currently in limbo though... there is no excuse for that...
> 
> ALSO HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE ANYONE?! DID ANYONE RECOGNIZE THAT IDEA?!


	27. { the epilogue }

With Lance’s help, Keith was able to piece together the makings of bringing a person back to life. A body couldn’t return to life without hosting a soul, or some spiritual equivalent. “I’m under the impression that bringing someone back to life requires hunting down their spirit,” Lance suggested. 

Keith tapped his chin thoughtfully, staring down at the corpse at their feet. _Hunting down spirits_ … he thought to himself.

“This isn’t exactly the realm of fire we’re talking about,” he said, “This is more up your alley—tell me what to do.”

He wasn’t surprised to see Lance pale at the thought, only to flare up with unadulterated fury. “ _You_ tell me that after _what just happened_?! This is _so_ up your alley!” Lance exclaimed, and before Keith could argue against it, Lance shoved Keith by the shoulders and screamed, “You—don’t—get—to— _say that_!”

Keith groaned aloud and flopped his arms to his sides, “Can we not discuss this right now? As far as anyone is concerned nothing has changed about me, and we should just stick to the fact that _you_ clearly have a theory about this.”

He raised his brows at Lance, daring him to argue it. It was hard to ignore what Lance was seeing at the moment: Keith as a sorcerer capable of wielding all variations of magick with little difficulty. And the fact that Keith was playing the handicap card was really difficult for Lance to stomach.

“Theories about where spirits go, Lance. Any day now,” he said. “Because so far I haven’t seen or heard _anything_ about the spirit escaping the body like you explained. Also, I can’t _believe_ you thought it was a good idea to stretch my spirit out like… like a _wet noodle_!”

Lance screamed out in frustration and said, “I don’t know! I don’t know, honestly! It just slithers up into the sky and who knows where it goes after that? It just… escapes out of the atmosphere, maybe it never stops floating—who really knows?” 

“There’s a theory that spirits return to the source, but the source is _in_ Mother Earth,” Keith said, clawing his fingers through his hair. “There is another theory that each spirit becomes a star when its host passes away—it’s what makes the stars seem infinite, when really they’re all people who have passed away.”

“Illogical and probably wrong,” Shiro murmured from afar, and both Lance and Keith turned to him sharply to say, “ _Shut up_.”

“Say Pidge is now, oh, I don’t know, _a star_ ,” Lance drawled, “how do you suggest we get her back?”

“But either way we can’t travel through space and time—with the world constantly rotating, Pidge’s spirit could be floating _anywhere_ other than our current zenith,” Keith complained, dropping his hands to his sides and groaning up to the sky. “ _Why is this so difficult?!_ ”

“Wait—” Lance started, slapping his hands to his head. “When I cut the galra parasite from your spirit, he just… fizzled away into nothing.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“ _No_ , but _listen_ —if he just dispersed into particles everywhere… Pidge could be everywhere as well! Her spirit could have dissolved and become apart of the atmosphere, which means we just have to pick apart every piece of her from the air and _boom_ , stitch her spirit back together.”

“And she was in the ocean…” Keith added, pointing to the sea. “Which means…”

“She’s in the sea,” Lance squealed, clapping his hands together and rushing to the shore. “Come on—”

“Okay, that still doesn’t explain how we _find her_ ,” Hunk said from the edge of their circle. Keith turned to him then, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Lance deflated. “You said that spirits glow white and blue… so how do we get her spirit to do that again? If you could see it, that would make finding her a _whole_ lot easier, just saying.”

 _Making spirits glow_ … Keith thought to himself. _Making people glow…_

“I know how we can do it,” Keith said, hurrying to the ocean. “No one said this spell couldn’t work on spirits, too.”

His boots sloshed through the water, and he resisted the urge to stagger under every harsh tide pulling in. He marched out farther and skimmed the water, looking towards the cliff as he put his arms in, elbow deep, into the water. 

He said the truth spell, the one he used multiple times on his friends to play that _stupid_ truth game Lance always begged to play. He pushed it outwards, beyond him, and beyond his general vicinity. He pushed it as far as it could go, carried by the water. He imagined the fish and sea creatures glowing, and resisted the urge to laugh at the thought. 

Hands still in the water, he said, “Never have I ever snooped through someone’s room without them knowing.”

From the shore he heard someone gasp, and looked to find both Hunk and Shiro jumping to their feet, following Lance as he started running down the shore. Keith looked in the direction he was pointing to—and in the water below the cliff, Keith nearly cried at the sight of yellow glowing through the water. 

He sprinted from the water and chased after them. The yellow was fading from the water. Lance’s cloak was flapping behind him as he jumped up, screaming, “Never have I ever had sex in the bathtub!”

The water shimmered yellow, and they plunged in without a second thought, swimming off the shore, weighed down by their clothes. Keith was shouting at Lance as he hurdled over a wave. “The water orb! Do the water orb! The one the water bender showed you!”

Mad with adrenaline, Lance didn’t even doubt himself for a second, or hesitate to plunge his hands into the glowing water as the yellow faded, and the waves suddenly seemed to heave up from the ocean. Shiro staggered back, tripping over Hunk as he halted several feet from Lance. A slick dome of water rose from the ocean, and soon remained level about five feet off the ground.

“Now what!” Lance shouted, hands up in the air as he turned towards Keith. The orb rocketed over Keith, and he ducked to avoid getting a face-full of saltwater. 

Keith repeated one of the “Never have I ever” phrases, just to see that they got all of Pidge’s remnants. As far as they could tell, she was in the orb Lance held in his hands. 

Keith put his hands into the orb that settled at eye level with him and Lance. He could see Lance’s head bubbling from the other side as he stuck his hands into the orb, and focused on the individual molecules that glowed. He ordered Hunk to keep them glowing, and eventually Keith collected each of the golden orbs in his hands. They were about the size of a street ball that kids played with.

He pulled it out of the water, sweating under the stress of keeping Pidge’s spirit in order—he hadn’t bended water in _years_. But this wasn’t water anymore—this was Pidge.

The orb over their heads dropped, and the epicenter of the collapse sent out a massive wave that nearly knocked Keith to the ground. Lance slapped his hands around Keith’s and pulled Pidge’s orb into his own hands. 

Lance mended Pidge’s spirit and carried her back to the corpse on the beach. The tide was rising fast, so they moved all of their things away from the shore. Keith held Pidge’s body close and pumped heat into her limbs as Lance sealed the base of Pidge’s spirit to her spine. It bothered Keith that he couldn’t see what Lance was doing, but eventually, after holding his fingers to Pidge’s wrist for nearly an hour, Keith felt her pulse for the first time.

When Pidge came back to life, they certainly didn’t expect her to come back screaming, as if she picked up where she left off: falling into the ocean. 

No matter how much they consoled her, she screamed until her voice went hoarse and all that came out was a tired whimper. Keith’s heart was beating rapidly the entire time, and even after she fell unconscious with Rover clawing impatiently at her chest. Hunk plucked Rover off and received an irritated clicking noise in response.

“I’m sure she’ll feel better after waking up,” Keith said slowly, looking up at Shiro who sat on Pidge’s other side. He looked pale and nervous and anything but confident in Keith’s promise.

“Nyma did say dead people were bummers,” Lance murmured from behind Keith. “I think the word she used was ‘a real drawl’.”

“What does Nyma do with the people she brings back anyway?” Hunk asked, and Keith’s unpleasant silence only made the man more anxious.

Eventually, Shiro cleared his throat and said to the side, “She… usually kills them again and returns them to the morgue. Either that or they commit suicide.” At this grim depiction, Shiro turned his eyes on Keith, who refused to look up from Pidge’s face. “Which is _why_ I told you it was a bad idea to bring Pidge back. You should have just left her in peace, Keith.” 

The reason he looked up wasn’t because he believed Shiro was right. He looked up because of the hitch in Shiro’s voice, and how torn he sounded, like he genuinely wanted Pidge’s spirit to be left in the ocean. He forced himself to understand Shiro’s reasoning, though, and that just made him more depressed about the results of Pidge’s reanimation.

After a while, still stiff and wet from plunging into the ocean, Hunk suggested they find a way back up the cliff. Shiro held Pidge in his arms as he led the group far down the beach, away from the cliff. They followed the sand until the cliffs to their right sloped and provided easy passage up. 

As they went, Keith’s disappointment in bringing Pidge back festered into the anger towards who let it happen: Haggar. That ratty old lady would _pay_ for what she did to Pidge, for what she did to Keith. The second they were in view of the ritual grounds and the town, Keith started sprinting against the shouts from his friends.

He ran into the town screaming Haggar’s name. He forced open doors and scoured the village. He broke into house after house, and no amount of foresight, no amount of omniscience, made it possible for Keith to find her. 

Haggar was just simply… gone.

But breaking into all those houses did bring _some_ good: the village wasn’t dead after all. They found entire families inside the houses, unconscious and drained entirely of what magick kept them functioning. Possessed, Keith determined, and with Haggar’s absence they were able to recover after the exorcisms Keith was comfortable performing. It solidified Keith’s theory that the galra were magickless creatures who leeched off of people of all magick spectrum levels. As it turned out, the Arusians weren’t entirely beyond their magickal ancestors, considering the effect of the galra.

It took a week for Pidge to awake, and it took approximately this long for Keith to successfully revive the villagers. They were granted permission to stay indefinitely in the village, and before the villagers could plot to burn down Haggar’s residence, Keith claimed it.

He snooped through all of her things, and imagined Pidge beside him, encouraging his curious endeavors. Haggar was evidently the village witch—a well-rounded one at that. She helped with harvest, determining the weather, reading the stars for future insight… she was even the village doctor.

Lance helped Keith sort through most of her things in their free time, until the day Pidge stirred in the patient cot in the main room. Lance rushed out to get Shiro and Hunk, and after he left, Keith was stuck alone with Pidge.

Her eyes were trained on the ceiling for no more than a minute before she started smacking her lips together and licking her teeth. She scowled for a moment before absently reaching a hand over and scratching her arm. Keith watched her from the chair he moved in beside her, and didn’t interject until her nails started to turn her skin raw on her wrist. He snatched her hand away and held down her burning wrist.

She blinked, clearing her vision before looking at Keith. Her eyes focused a second later, and she swallowed hard. “… Keith?” she said.

“Glad you remember my name,” he said, eyes cloudy as he forced back tears, smiling at her.

She smiled as if she wanted to laugh, but wasn’t sure what the joke was. “What’s going on?” she asked, looking away to observe the interior of the room.

He flicked his index finger until it lit up, and he gently tugged on her chin to pull her eyes towards him. He checked to see if her pupils reacted to the light, and they did. He pulled her lips down and examined her teeth, and then told her to stick out her tongue so he could see down her throat. 

“Tell me your name?” he asked.

“Pidge Gunderson—What happened?”

“Age?”

“What happened?” she repeated, forcing herself up onto her elbows. “I don’t—I’ve been in this room before but—where am I? Am I…? I’m in Arus, right? We’re still in Arus?” 

“We are,” Keith agreed. “Do you remember anything? From before you woke up?” It was a selfish question to ask, while at the same time ensuring that Pidge’s memory was still intact. It was that same innate human desire to know the unknown: he wanted to know what Pidge recalled from the afterlife.

But clearly she wasn’t aware that she was once dead. “I fell off the cliff,” she said. “How long have I been out?”

“About a week,” he said, and paused hesitantly to expand upon it. He looked at the door, knowing that at any second Hunk, Shiro, and Lance would barge in and demand to know what she remembered after passing away. That would be more than a shocker. 

He turned back to her, a hand still resting on her raw wrist. “But… after you fell from the cliff, you died. Lance and I brought you back to life.”

Pidge stared at him, and seemed to laugh inwardly as if to say, “Yeah, sure, whatever you say!” but the strained look on Keith’s face made her think otherwise. He added that he and Lance healed her broken bones before initially reviving her, and that she should only have bruising now. She peeled up her shirt to see the damage, and sure enough, both sides from her ribs were tragically red and blue. One of her legs was red, but the week allowed for the swelling to decrease: resetting her bones was a struggle, and left those places ridiculously puffy as her body attempted to recover.

“You… brought me back to life?” she repeated, now forcing herself to sit up against the pain of her ribs. She held onto them, wincing at Keith. “Why would you—”

She wasn’t able to finish before the door to the store burst open and Shiro ran through the threshold. He skidded to a halt just past the welcome mat, and Hunk nearly ran into him. They stared at Pidge from afar, who stared at them with equal surprise. She had her back up against the wall, partially facing Keith, who looked between them before moving from the chair and ushering Shiro over to it.

Shiro approached the bed hesitantly, staring at Pidge as though expecting her to scream like before. Keith realized that everyone was a bit pale—they were all terrified of the result. Now that they had Pidge back, it would be horrendous to realize that she wanted to be put down again.

“Pidge…” Shiro started, lowering himself onto the chair. He laid a hand near hers, and after a moment, she reached out to take it. It was enough to send him into tears. “Oh, Pidge—I’m so sorry I couldn’t catch you—”

Shiro dropped his head onto the sheets beside their hands. Pidge’s eyes glistened and filled with tears that spilled over as she sniffed and said, “Well… I guess you get a second chance to catch me this time, huh?”

As they both laughed, a shriek built up from where Lance held tight onto Rover, who was squirming in his hands the entire time. Her scales were still pale, but her energy came back as strong as ever. Pidge’s attention turned over to her—careful so as not to upset the redness of her neck. “Is it… Is it just me or is Rover a bit _bigger_ than before?”

Just as she said it, Rover slipped from Lance’s hands and leapt towards the bed. Hunk had to aid her on the way there, but she made it and slithered all over Pidge’s bruises before coming to settle over her stomach. She laid her hands over Rover with a soft smile. “Hey there, Rover,” she laughed.

That night, Pidge was still restricted to bedrest mainly because it pained her to move around much. They brought dinner to her, and pulled up a table to her cot that fit the five of them perfectly. Keith studied her the entire time, as he did the entire day, and was surprised to find her acting normally when just thirty minutes prior to the arrival of their friends he caught her pulling at the bandages protecting her wrists.

It took several days of this for Pidge to finally say something—exactly six attempts to cut open her wrists later. “My brain doesn’t… feel normal,” she confessed to Keith. “I don’t know why I keep doing it—it just sort of _happens_.”

“Have you been writing this down?” he asked, and she shook her head. “You used to write everything down. You want to try writing again?”

She seemed hesitant at first before accepting a notebook and (dull) pencil. Before leaving her to it, Keith added: “You _were_ considered dead for over half an hour. Your brain probably needs to heal a bit more.”

“Yeah… you’re right I guess,” she murmured, tapping her pencil to her leg before flipping open to the first page. 

Keith sat across the room reading as Pidge read over her previous accounts. After making it to the end of that, she wrote until the pencil needed sharpening, and then continued to write late into the night. Afterwards, Keith set her journal aside, made his bed on the floor beside her, and slept.

Shiro refused to leave the village until Pidge was certifiably back to normal. Her suicidal attempts decreased within the month, but were still prevalent and kept Keith constantly on his toes. It didn’t help that he and Pidge kept their friends oblivious, but Keith found that keeping Pidge entertained with Hunk and Lance helped. When she was able to walk around, they accompanied her on visits to the villagers she befriended on her first trip to Arus. They often stopped by Keith and Shiro’s house to drop by food and gifts for Pidge and Keith, and would chat with her when they could. Because of this, she had visitors constantly. She was rarely left alone.

Rover was a topic of great interest in the village. By the end of the first month her fiery breath had nearly burnt down a house, and _actually_ burnt down a tree (by accident). She was approximately the size of a dog and continued to think that she was the size of a kitten. She often slept with Hunk and Lance, much to their dismay some nights, and would stay with Keith only when needed. They were working on separating her from Shiro and Pidge, and therefore meant Keith’s house was off limits for Rover.

There was one flight attempt in the second month. Her favorite spot was the ritual grounds, up on the cliff, and they never realized why until the wind just seemed to call to her. She leapt off the cliff without warning, and from afar Hunk’s scream sounded like that of a woman screaming for her child’s life. Keith had to physically hold Lance back from jumping over after Rover, whose juvenile wings buffeted under the air currents. 

Keith didn’t dare tamper with the air, since Rover was experimenting. Of course he supervised, but he let her get a feel for the ocean breeze yanking her up higher and higher. Her shadow blanketed them for a brief second before she spiraled away and dove down the side of the cliff, testing her limits.

When Rover came back it was to Hunk screaming, “Don’t you _dare_ scare me like that again!” and throwing his arms around her neck. He picked her up in his arms—he was the only one who could still do that—and carried her far, _far_ away from the cliff ledge.

“Do you think he realizes that Rover is _supposed_ to fly eventually?” Lance whispered to Keith.

“You tell him.”

“No, you tell him!”

Upon hearing Rover’s flight story, Pidge and Shiro begged to see, which Hunk nearly cried at. So they made plans to test Rover’s flight when Hunk wasn’t around. They went to the ritual grounds and waited for Rover to feel the same inclination she did before, but it never came. She simply sat and closed her eyes against the breeze.

When Keith no longer had to supervise Pidge, he spent his nights in the room above the shop. He missed having a legitimate mattress, and it took several washes before Keith was willing to sleep in the same matt Haggar used. Shiro spent his days learning from the villagers and traveling between villages with other people who worked in town. It meant that most of the time, Shiro was unconscious before Keith was even tired enough to head upstairs. Suffice to say, there weren’t many telekinetic instances.

But he was just thankful to spend time with Shiro, even if it _was_ spent entirely asleep. Shiro always woke up, though groggily, to talk to Keith before sleep. They always had the weirdest conversations when they were half awake, and more often than not they ended in giddy laughter, and Keith nestled up against Shiro’s chest.

Life in Arus was perfectly agreeable, even after Shiro and Pidge left five months later. 

The first night without them, the village put together a meal and a bonfire that ended with Keith drunkenly dancing with just about everyone in the village before passing out face-first in Pidge’s cot. The following night, one of the elderly women from the town cooked him dinner and drank Arusian grape wine with him, and later Hunk and Lance when they came to visit.

Hunk spent a lot of time learning the cooking techniques of the Arusians, so the third night Lance visited on his own with a bit of sweet rum and pastries Hunk made. “He’s taken over the house and it smells like a holiday in there. He’s won the hearts of _every goddamn woman in this town_ and I can’t _stand it_ ,” Lance whined, slamming his fist on the table bitterly.

“You can’t blame them. Food is the way to anyone’s heart,” Keith said. “And also being an excellent listener.”

“Really? Then how’d you snag Shiro?” Lance joked.

“That question should be the other way around—Shiro is a shit listener,” he laughed before frowning a little at his glass. It came across as a pout that had Lance gagging from the other side of the table. “What?”

“No— _no, no, no_ , you don’t peg me as the sort of guy to get all sappy over your significant other,” Lance said, shaking his head. “I’m not having it. You can take your sob story and shove it up your ass I don’t care.”

“It’s not a sob story!”

“Oh really? If only you wore that face looking out the window thinking, ‘Oh, when will my husband return from the war!’”

Keith didn’t even bother gasping in horror at that. Instead, he got up from the table and punched Lance in the arm. When he didn’t let up laughing, Keith shoved the side of his head and threateningly tickled his abdomen. “You—are—the _worst_ —apprentice— _ever_!” Keith shouted as Lance fell off the side of his chair laughing hysterically.

After Lance begged for surrender no less than five times, Keith let up and collapsed on the floor next to him. Breathing hard, he stared up at the ceiling and said, “You aren’t the worst apprentice ever.”

Beside him, Lance pushed himself up to see Keith’s face clearly, assessing whether or not he was lying. “That… is actually one of the nicest things you’ve said to me,” he said, and accepted the punch to the arm Keith gave him. “I like being your apprentice.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t mean to brag, but… I don’t think anyone else would have been able to handle you. You may not be able to control all forms of magick, but you have _way_ too much magick for someone with such a focused outlet,” Keith said, spreading his arms wide and letting them fall to the ground. 

Lance flicked his nails over a chip in the wood flooring before saying, “Do you think… I might be able to control all forms of magick? People can dabble, can’t they?” 

Keith pushed himself up to be eye level with Lance. His apprentice was still staring at the floorboards, until Keith said, “It’s worth a shot, but you are still a beginner. Which means it might take a few years for you to even start anything outside of spiritual and mental magick.”

The look on Lance’s face was what made everything worth it for Keith, no matter how much he rolled his eyes and scoffed at Lance’s giddy joy. He found himself yanked into a hug, and after a moment he let his arms fall around Lance’s torso, and he smiled softly. He could stand to be Lance’s mentor for as long as it took. He already made one milestone with his apprentice:

Lance was already a legend for bringing Pidge back to life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't understand how hard it was to prevent this from turning into Klance and sparking a sequel. But honestly the amount of PROBLEMS WITH THAT: Hunk would be devastated, Shiro would have returned from WAR and STARTED A WAR. Just no. No.
> 
> We have arrived at the end of _And Other Curious Creatures_! I hope you all enjoyed it and I loved all the lovely feedback and hearing all your awesome theories and such. Considering this wasn't even meant to have a plot, let alone be a complete NOVEL I'd say you guys more or less helped the production of it.  
>  KUDOS TO YOU!
> 
> IF YOU LIKE MY STUFF HERE'S MY SOCIAL MEDIA AND WHERE YOU CAN FIND MORE BOOKS BY ME:  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/girlskylark)  
> [tumblr](http://gurlskylark.tumblr.com/) (fandom blog)  
> [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/-SarahCorner-) (contemporary, werewolf, & high fantasy)  
> [ _Galra Steel_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7713844/chapters/17578972) (Voltron Fantasy AU with knight!Shiro, ambassador!Lance, Pidge-centric! **unfinished** )  
> [ _We Will Be_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8234161/chapters/18870463) (Sheith fic stuffed with feels and emotion. **finished** )  
> [quiz!](http://www.playbuzz.com/sarahc82/what-curious-creature-are-you) (See what curious creature you are based on this book!)


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